


Red Rope, Red Rope

by Zenn



Series: Rope [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: ALL THE ANGST, August 19th/Day One Prompt, Canon-Typical Violence, Circa Season 3, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Light Angst, M/M, Murphamy Week, Murphamy Week 2019, Murphy-centric, POV Bellamy Blake, Season Three Divergent, Slow Burn, Trauma and/or healing, burn in murphamy hell with me, mentions of past abuse/trauma, season one divergent, sprinkle of fluff for flavor, who am I kidding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-08-23 06:35:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 42,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20238349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zenn/pseuds/Zenn
Summary: Bellamy had thought he had seen the last of the likes of Murphy when he was banished, yet here he lays half dead in front of them. Blood spills lazily from his slightly open mouth, his right ear, and the numerous cuts that liter his body. His skin is pale and sickly and he appears severely malnourished. His eyes stare past them even as they grow nearer to his unmoving body.______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________What if the grounders never let Murphy go in Season One? At the start of Season Three, everything is the same except Murphy never came back and Clarke never left. So, what happens when a bloodied and broken Murphy shows up out of the blue; will he be forgiven or cast out all over again?





	1. Take a Rope

Bellamy walks through Arkadia taking in the general unease that fills the atmosphere like a heavy blanket. The people of Arkadia have been growing increasingly restless over the last month and today doesn’t appear to be any different. Even before the sun rises, when most people are still fast asleep, tension sits heavily in the air.

Moral and spirits had been raised when they got everybody back from Mount Weather, even after the betrayal from Lexa and the grounders. People were happy to have their loved ones back and Arkadia was in a golden era. With Monty and Jasper back crappy moonshine was flowing through their camp more than water was and people were high off of more than just happiness. Unfortunately, that high didn’t last long.

Rations had been getting dangerously low lately and with winter approaching the camp needed more food. This would be their first winter on the ground and although they knew what to expect—less and less daylight, harsh snowstorms, cold days with even colder nights—they still weren’t one hundred percent prepared for what was to come. 

Over the last month, Lincoln had been attending numerous meetings with the council and although a lot of the camp still didn’t trust a grounder in their midst nobody could deny that he provided them with vitally important information for their survival.

The council had decided that Lincoln and Octavia, accompanied by volunteers that consisted mainly of surviving members of the hundred, should mount hunting parties. They had been doing day-long hunting trips for weeks now with little success; if they wanted to collect enough food to last them the winter months, they would need to expand both their radius and their manpower. Which led to today’s meeting. 

The council had given permission for Lincoln and Octavia to head a more expansive hunting party, which meant that Octavia had pressured Bellamy into joining. Not that Bellamy would have said no anyway, there wasn’t much that he was doing around the camp these days and he was going a bit stir crazy; so, when Octavia had approached him about it he had readily agreed.

As Bellamy approaches the tent that Octavia likes to use for planning and strategizing, he hears multiple angry voices shouting. Pushing aside the flap of the tent he walks into what might be classified as a battleground with the amount of chaos that is happening.

Miller is waving his hands wildly at Octavia shouting about something and Octavia looks as if she is about to go to blows with him about whatever it is. Lincoln is trying to hold her back and also carry on a loud conversation with Raven about whatever she is holding in her hands; Raven is swinging the metal contraption dangerously close to Lincoln’s face in an attempt to prove whatever point she is trying to make. Harper is trying to talk to Monty over the noise but Jasper seems to be trying to butt into their conversation as well, which is causing both of them to yell at him which only succeeds in him yelling back at them. Monroe is trying to get everyone’s attention as she points to something on the map but only Bryan seems to be paying her any attention as her voice is easily drowned out by the noise around her.

Bellamy glances around spotting Clarke in the back corner shaking her head at the chaos around her; he moves around the rambunctious group and sidles up next to Clarke.

“What the hell is going on,” he shout-whispers into her ear, attempting to be heard over the noise.

She turns her head towards Bellamy with a shrug, looking tired and overwhelmed. He sighs in reply, nodding his head before taking a step forward.

“Everybody quiet!”

The room falls into silence as nine pairs of eyes land on Bellamy, and Bellamy doesn’t miss the way that Octavia tries to subtly hide the book she was no doubt about to clock Miller with.

“O, what the hell is going on here?”

“Miller,” she snarks, glaring daggers at the man in question, “thinks he runs the show around here.”

Before Bellamy has a chance to question that statement, Miller is interrupting defensively. 

“No, no, no. We all know who’s in charge here, you make that more than clear Octavia! Just because _ some of us _ have ideas that you don’t agree with-”

“Oh, come on Miller,” Harper interjects, coming to Octavia’s defense, “we all know you came in here with a _ huge attitude _!”

“Miller’s not the only one who needs an attitude adjustment…” 

And just like that the group dissolves into another loud argument with everybody at each other's throats.

“Hey, hey, HEY!” Bellamy pushes between Jasper and Harper, stopping Harper mid punch.

“Everybody sit down,” Bellamy commands, glancing around at everyone until they obey, “now somebody explain to me just what in the hell is going on in here.”

Miller opens his mouth, already pointing an accusing finger in Octavia and Lincoln’s direction.

“_Without _calling each other out,” Bellamy clarifies exasperated.

Miller’s mouth shuts with a snap as he sits back huffily in his chair.

“Miller suggested something that Octavia did not agree with, I don’t know what, so Octavia started explaining to him just who was in charge here. Miller then decided that making a snarky comment about her and Lincoln was a good idea, so Lincoln was trying to hold Octavia back from murdering Miller while also explaining to Raven why he doesn’t want her modified rifle. Monty came to say goodbye to Harper and Jasper tagged along to accuse Harper of stealing his best friend which resulted in a feud between the three of them. I think that about covers it.” Clarke looks and sounds like an exasperated mother dealing with her disobedient children and honestly Bellamy can’t blame her. He’s betting that she really wishes he hadn’t convinced her to stay at Arkadia right about now.

“What about these two,” Bellamy questions, gesturing to Bryan and Monroe.

“Oh, they were the only ones actually trying to discuss our plan.”

Bellamy glances down at the map where multiple locations are highlighted and crossed out, a maze of signs and symbols that he can’t make heads nor tails of.

With a sigh Bellamy turns towards Clarke whispering, “And you didn’t stop this why?”

Clarke answers with her own sigh. “After about five minutes of trying to rationally shout over them, I gave up.”

Bellamy glances at the group of almost adults and notes how most of them are refusing to even make eye contact with one another.

“Fair enough.”

Bellamy turns back to the group and drops into a chair motioning for Clarke to do the same, only once she’s reluctantly sat down does he start.

“Alright, first things first. This is Octavia and Lincoln’s operation; we are here as additional personnel-”

“You’re just saying that because she’s your sister!” Bryan punches Miller in the side trying to get him to shut up and Bellamy begins to regret agreeing to help Octavia with this.

“No, I’m saying that because they’re the best hunters we have. Lincoln has grown up in these woods, learned to hunt here since before you could tie your own shoes, Miller. And he’s been teaching O everything he knows.”

“That doesn’t mean they should decide everything; all I was saying was that they should be in two different hunting parties.”

“Wait, that’s what this is about?” Bellamy looks to Octavia for confirmation but she won’t make eye contact with him.

“O, you two are easily distracted by each other plus we need an experienced hunter in each group.”

Octavia huffs but after Lincoln whispers something in her ear she gives in with a huffy “Fine.”

“Thank you!”

“Shut up, Miller!” 

“Harper,” Bellamy chastises making Harper roll her eyes, “Miller, we’re all on the same side, plus you and Bryan will be in different hunting parties as well.”

“What? I didn’t agree to that!”

“Fair is fair, Miller.”

“No couples in the same group,” Bellamy reaffirms sternly, “It’ll only lead to distractions and our main goal is to bring back food for the camp not _ get it on _ in the forest.”

The group erupts in giggles effectively lightening the whole mood in the tent, even Clarke smiles—Bellamy doesn't think he’s seen her smile since Mount Weather. 

“Get it on, really Bell, how old _ are you _?”

“Shut up, O,” Bellamy snaps without malice, a smile creeping onto his face.

“Okay, next order of business…”

“Harper is trying to steal my best friend!” Jasper enthusiastically gesticulates, pointing his finger wildly at Harper who in turn looks ready to break the accusing finger.

“I am not trying to steal anybody! Monty and I are dating, Jasper, he’s allowed to come say goodbye to me if he wants to!”

“Alright, alright. Jasper, nobody is stealing Monty from you, but he’s allowed to have other friends. Or a girlfriend,” Bellamy corrects when he gets a look from Harper. 

“Monty, you have had plenty of time to say goodbye to Harper, so if you don’t mind, we need to discuss our plans for gathering food.” 

Monty deflates a little but he leaves with Jasper in tow, albeit after a goodbye kiss from Harper.

“Okay, my turn.”

“Yeah, Raven, go ahead.” Bellamy is starting to realize why Clarke gave up trying to fix this and with a glance to his left he can see her looking at him smugly like she knows exactly what he’s thinking.

Raven moves over to the map table, letting her rifle clatter on top of it with a heavy _ thump _.

“Alright, someone explain to me why this guy,” she throws a casual yet spiteful look over her shoulder at Lincoln who gives her a blank look in return, “won’t take my rifle hunting with him.”

Octavia opens her mouth to answer but Raven holds up her hand without even looking at her.

“Not finished.” Raven starts pacing around the table gesturing at the rifle which is never a good sign. “I spent two weeks searching for the correct parts for this damn rifle, after finally finding the parts I then spent two days straight taking apart and reconstructing this hunk of metal to figure out how these new additions fit onto the rifle. An additional seven hours was spent adding those additions to the other rifles-” Raven takes a breath for air and Clarke takes this as her chance to intervene.

“Thank you, Raven. We all really appreciate the work that has gone into these rifles, they’ll undoubtedly make getting an accurate shot easier.”

Raven nods dutifully at Clarke, slipping back into her seat and rubbing her braced leg irritatedly. 

“I’m actually fine with using a rifle,” Lincoln states calmly causing Raven to almost explode back out of her seat, “As I was trying to explain, it’s Octavia who doesn’t want to use one.”

“I’ll be using my sword, as always, it’s worked just fine so far.” If looks could kill Bellamy is pretty sure Lincoln would be dead right now from the way Octavia is looking at him.

“Octavia,” Lincoln starts looking at Octavia, they have a silent conversation with their eyes that doesn’t seem to end well.

“I don’t care if you use a damn rifle Lincoln!” Octavia nearly knocks over her chair as she gets up and strides over to the map table. “So, what’s the plan?” She asks, addressing Bellamy and Clarke, completely blowing off Lincoln. 

After a moment of tense silence, Clarke gets up from her seat and walks over to where Octavia stands at the map table.

“We split into two groups; Octavia you’ll lead me, Miller, and Bellamy to the North.” Clarke gestures to the map in front of her, easily slipping back into a leadership role. Recently Clarke has been hiding in the infirmary wing under the guise of helping her mom but Bellamy knows that she is just hiding from reality and he can’t really blame her after what has happened. However, he is glad to see her participating for the first time since Mount Weather. 

“The North, that’s the direction of the drop ship, right?” Miller walks over to the table to join the conversation and look over the map.

“Lincoln said that the wild boar in the area migrate just Northwest of the drop ship near the river come winter. We can also stop by the drop ship and make sure we have salvaged everything from it that we can.”

“I made a list of things to look for,” Raven limps over, setting several pieces of paper on the map, “there are descriptions of what to look for too, in case you guys don’t know exactly what copper wiring or radio amplifiers look like.”

Clarke takes the list from Raven, nodding her thanks.

“Lincoln will take Harper and Bryan to the East where the deer population is said to be more abundant.”

“They hide out in groups near the cave systems in the mountain,” Lincoln affirms, “if we’re lucky we might even be able to take down a bear.”

Harper and Bryan exchange a glance when Lincoln mentions hunting bears and Bellamy quickly waves them off before they can freak out and ditch the mission.

“We’ll hunt today, camp in the woods come nightfall, and regroup tomorrow before dusk whether we found food or not,” Clarke states, getting them back on track. “Sound good to everyone?”

There are numerous mumbled affirmatives and although they are no longer shouting at one another, the tension is still high.

“Okay people we’re already losing daylight, so grab your shit and let’s head out!”

**. · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . ·**

Bellamy glances forward to where Clarke and Miller are scouting ahead, supposedly hot on the trial of some kind of animal, although they are not sure what kind. Bellamy and Octavia hang back slightly, watching their six, and Bellamy takes this as his chance to talk to Octavia alone.

“So,” Bellamy starts and Octavia side-eyes him, already suspicious. “What’s up with you and Lincoln?”

Octavia huffs, not making eye contact instead heavily focusing on the tracks that cover the ground. 

“I know tensions have been high in camp lately,” Bellamy continues when Octavia doesn’t answer, “with rations low people have been getting hungry and hunger can lead to irritation. So, you know I get it if you are growing exasperated but it seemed to be more than that. I’m just saying if you want to talk about it that I’m here for you and-”

“Bell, stop, this isn’t about being hungry!”

Octavia angrily slashes a branch out of her way with her sword, coming uncomfortably close to Bellamy on the backswing. Bellamy steps around to stand in front of her, lightly grabbing her wrist when she tries to go around him.

“We’re losing the rest of our group,” Octavia points out, violently freeing her wrist from Bellamy’s hold.

“They’re stopping every three inches to check the tracks, we’ll be fine.”

Octavia rolls her eyes at Bellamy’s logic but she sheathes her weapon all the same. Bellamy lets his hand rest on her shoulder, ignoring the glare he gets for his efforts.

“Talk to me, O. What’s going on?”

Bellamy waits for several moments as Octavia refuses to meet his gaze and question but with a huff she gives in.

“Look, he’s trying so hard to fit in with everybody…”

Octavia moves to sit on a nearby stump and Bellamy waves Clarke on when she glances back to see where they’ve gone, luckily Clarke gets the hint and with a nod she and Miller continue on.

“I mean don’t get me wrong Bell I’m happy that people are finally accepting him but he’s fitting in with everyone so well and-” Octavia cuts herself off, eyes on the ground.

“And you’re not,” Bellamy finishes for her.

Octavia looks up at Bellamy sharply but with a sigh she nods her head, eyes going back to the ground as she kicks the dirt with her boot.

“Listen, O.” Bellamy moves to sit next to her, bumping her shoulder playfully to get her to move over. “You don’t fit in with those people.”

“Wow, thanks big brother. Your words of wisdom never fail to lift my spirits.”

Octavia moves to get up but Bellamy stops her with a gentle push back down.

“Hold on,” he laughs, “I wasn’t finished.”

When Bellamy doesn’t continue Octavia makes waspish eye contact, raising a single eyebrow for Bellamy to continue.

“You don’t fit in with those people,” Bellamy restates earning him a groan from Octavia, “but look around camp, none of us do. None of the people who crashed in the dropship are fitting in with the people who came down after us. Do you see Jasper and Monty going around socializing with everybody? Miller might have joined the Guard but do you see him hanging out with the other guards? Clarke isn’t going around attending council meetings and Raven isn’t going to the adults to approve her designs anymore. The truth is the last few months, hell ever since we landed on the ground, we’ve all changed. You’re not alone with not fitting in, O, none of us do. And just because you don’t fit in with the rest of camp doesn’t mean you don’t have a place; you’ll always fit in with me.”

Octavia smiles ruefully, some of the tension from this morning slipping away.

“C’mon, we better catch up with the group.”

Bellamy smiles as he follows Octavia’s lead, pretending not to see as she discreetly wipes away a single tear.

**. · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . ·**

“I think that about covers it,” Clarke announces as she descends the drop ship's ladder to the ground floor.

As her boots hit the floor, she turns to see Octavia heaving herself up and out of the crawl space underneath the bottom level of the drop ship. She pauses to haul her bag out of the hole in the floor, before turning to Clarke with a faint smirk on her face.

“Guess I never grew out of hanging out under the floors, huh?” Octavia glances over her shoulder to the hole she just climbed out of, huffing a laugh at her own joke.

“Don’t let Bellamy hear you say that,” Clarke jokingly warns earning her a hint of a smile and a barely there laugh. “Find anything down there?”

Octavia holds up some mangled wires before unceremoniously shoving them into her pack.

“Found some wires and circuit board shit that Raven might be able to salvage, although some of it looks pretty fried.” Octavia holds up a blackened mess of wires to prove her point.

“Well if anyone can get it to work, it’ll be Raven.”

Octavia nods her head in agreement as she works to fit all the salvaged parts into her pack.

“Find anything up there?” Octavia nods her head up, motioning towards the ladder.

“Yeah, actually I found an emergency compartment up there with nearly thirty-three ration packs. Just add water!”

Clarke pulls one of the rations out to show Octavia, forced optimism on her face.

“Great, more powdered eggs and dehydrated beef,” Octavia mocks, smile not meeting her eyes.

“Better than nothing,” Bellamy points out coming up behind Octavia.

Octavia turns around to Bellamy with a sneer, “Ever the optimist, Bell.”

Bellamy’s face breaks out into a smile and Octavia can’t help but smile back, shaking her head at her brother’s stupid cheerfulness.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he shoots back, his smile still in full force.

Clarke smiles too as she watches Octavia swat Bellamy’s hands from pulling all the wires out of her bag; he finally gives up, throwing his hands up in surrender. Clarke finishes packing the rations into her own pack as Bellamy strolls over and peeks at her things.

“Rations?” Bellamy questions excitedly looking up at Clarke with mirthful eyes.

“Thirty-three packs of dehydrated meals, if we stint it enough we can do three for one ration pack.”

Bellamy nods along, taking a package from her bag to closer inspect it.

Taking the ration pack back to put in her bag Clarke asks, “You and Miller have any luck around the camp?”

Bellamy shakes his head with a laugh. “Everything out there is scorched. Miller went off to double-check the old traps around camp but I’m not confident that he’ll find anything.”

As if on cue Miller enters the dropship pushing the tarp aside, face lit up in a rare smile.

“Hey guys, I think we got something.”

Octavia, Clarke, and Bellamy turn their focus to Miller, matching confused expressions on their faces. Miller motions for them to follow him back outside not waiting before he disappears behind the tarp from where he came. 

“We done in here?” 

Both girls nod as they put the last few items in their bag before slinging them over their backs, turning to follow Bellamy outside.

“Let’s go see what Miller is so excited about.”

**. · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . ·**

Octavia bends down to examine the trap, gently prodding it with her dagger. 

Miller had led them about a mile and a half east of the dropship to where old bear traps lay scattered throughout the woods. Bellamy remembers more than a few close calls from the early days on the ground, when the hundred were still discovering the ins and outs of the forest around them.

“The blood is fresh, can’t be more than a couple hours old.” Octavia wipes her finger off on her pants and goes back to pushing the metal contraption with her dagger.

Miller nods excitedly, “Told ya you guys would want to see it.”

Clarke leans down to inspect the trap with Octavia, prodding the metal lever with her finger as she stares quizzically at the bloodstained metal.

“Careful,” Bellamy warns as both girls continue to prod and poke the metal.

Octavia waves Bellamy off with her hand, eyes not leaving the metal trap before her.

“You thinking what I’m thinking,” Clarke asks, eyes meeting Octavia’s.

She nods before standing up, sheathing her dagger back into her belt loop in the process, glancing around the forest with careful eyes.

“Why didn’t it work?”

Clarke nods her agreement, still playing with the metal hinge of the trap. Bellamy moves to crouch in the spot Octavia was just in, curiosity getting the better of him.

“Right here,” Bellamy points out a loose hinge, fingers gently moving brush out of the way so the others can see, a metal bolt falling out in the process.

“Damn,” Miller comments as he takes the bolt off the ground to look at it. “Must have been just loose enough for the animal to get its foot out.”

“But it’s injured,” Octavia smiles, eyes going back to the blood that covers the forest floor.

“What do you guys think it is,” Miller questions, looking to Octavia for the answer.

“Let me just taste the blood and I’ll let you know,” Octavia snarks although Miller takes her seriously, waiting with expectant eyes until he realizes she isn’t actually going to taste the blood.

“I’m just curious, okay,” Miller replies defensively, “It’s been too long since we have had real food. I think I’m starting to forget what anything besides powdered eggs tastes like.”

Octavia rolls her eyes at that but Bellamy knows that she feels the same way, they all miss the taste of real food. 

“What are we looking at Clarke?” Bellamy asks instead of addressing Miller’s whining. 

Clarke stands up and does a full circle around the trap and the pool of blood that surrounds it. 

“A liter, maybe a little less.”

Octavia nods her head along whereas Bellamy and Miller look between the two at a loss.

“Is that a lot, or…” Miller questions uneasily, eyeing the blood like it will jump up and bite him if he’s not careful. Mount Weather had definitely given a lot of the hundred a major aversion to seeing or being around blood in any capacity, and Bellamy hopes that he’ll be okay once it comes to actually bringing down an animal. 

“It’s not significant enough to kill it, obviously, although it could have bled out already depending on what kind of animal it is. Either way that amount of blood is going to make tracking this thing and bringing it down a whole lot easier.”

Miller looks relieved at Octavia’s words, although unease is still evident in his features.

“What are we waiting for then, let’s head out.”

**. · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . ·**

Twigs and branches snap under Bellamy’s heavy combat boots no matter how lightly he tries to step. Octavia keeps turning to glare at him as he noisily crunches his way through the forest behind her. 

In contrast, Octavia slips through the forest like a shadow in front of him her boots leaving almost no sound in their wake. Glancing behind him to where Clarke and Miller bring up the rear of the group their footfalls are not noiseless but still plenty quieter than Bellamy’s own.

As Octavia stoops down to examine another bloodied and broken branch, Bellamy takes this as his chance to relace his boots hoping that will help fix his noise problem.

“We’re getting close,” Octavia informs the group in a whisper as she straightens up and pulls out her blade in one smooth motion.

Bellamy draws his gun up as he gets back up following the lead of Octavia and with a glance behind him Clarke is doing the same, with Miller hesitantly looking to Octavia before readjusting his own gun.

“How do you know?” Miller questions argumentatively, although he still falls into line behind Clarke as Octavia leads the group deeper into the forest.

“Well for one we are nearing the river and animals tend to migrate to water when in an injured state. More importantly, there are more broken branches and bigger pools of blood indicating the animal is limping more which means it’s running out of stamina.”

Miller seems to approve of this explanation and raises his gun accordingly in preparation.

“About damn time.”

Octavia’s predictions prove true not even five minutes later when they come upon a giant oak tree. Blood covers the lower part of the trunk and is splattered on the ground surrounding the base almost as if the creature had hit the tree and then fallen down. A weak trail of blood leads around the tree and the sound of wheezing is audible on the other side of the oak.

Octavia silently motions for Bellamy to follow her on the left and for Clarke and Miller to circle around the right. When three heads nod their approval, Octavia raises her sword higher and ever so quietly rounds the tree.

Bellamy follows her as quietly as he can gun raised in front of him, finger poised readily on the trigger. As soon as he makes it to the other side of the tree, he points his gun at the downed animal ready to fire, but never makes the shot.

The animal is lying helpless, half slumped against the base of the tree with vacant eyes staring into the woods beyond them, its chest rises and falls with a rattle as it struggles to get in any air. Its body is covered in a thick layer of grime consisting of dirt and blood, face contorted in pain due to its numerous wounds. The creature is so out of it that it doesn’t even acknowledge their arrival, skin as pale to a death that looks as if it will come any moment now. With the dirt and blood that smears its face in a crude version of paint it is almost unrecognizable but unfortunately, Bellamy would know that face anywhere.

“Murphy?”

Bellamy drops his gun, it hits the ground with a dull thud not that anyone notices, all eyes trained onto the bruised and bloodied body that lays under the oak.

John Murphy.

Bellamy had thought he had seen the last of the likes of Murphy when he was banished nearly four months ago yet here he lays half dead in front of them. 

His shirt is clinging to his blood-wet torso shredded into scraps exposing his raw and bloody chest, several of his ribs jutting out in an unhealthy way. Burn marks decorate his torso and arms, his pants are scorched in places and ripped everywhere else. Dirt cakes everywhere that blood isn’t and badly burned skin is visible through the holes in his pants. Deep purple and blue bruises decorate his pale skin in a morbidly beautiful contrast twisting around his neck, wrists, and ankles in braided patterns. His bare feet are almost black with dirt and scorch marks and the skin on his left ankle has deep puncture wounds circling it as if it was caught in a trap. 

His breath comes out in a rattling tremble, chest rising and falling shakily as he fights to get in enough oxygen. Blood spills lazily from his slightly open mouth, his right ear, and the numerous cuts that liter his body. His skin is pale and sickly and he appears severely malnourished. His eyes stare past them even as they grow nearer to his unmoving body. 

His entire body flinches as Clarke kneels down to check on him and she glances back at Bellamy, looking as if she has seen a ghost and at this point, Bellamy isn’t sure that they haven’t. Behind him, Octavia and Miller shift uncomfortably sword and gun respectively raised. Bellamy motions for them to lower their weapons as Clarke hesitantly tries to reach out to Murphy again.

“Murphy,” Clarke whispers like she’s scared he’ll break if she speaks too loudly.

He jerkily turns to look at her, eyes having trouble focusing as his head bobs with the movement. He eventually settles for resting his head against the tree, eyes finally settling on Clarke’s face.

“Clarke…” Murphy’s voice comes out raw and he sounds uncertain. When he glances past Clarke and spots Bellamy, he does a double-take that makes his head swim before noticing Octavia and Miller as well.

“Fuck,” he seems to mutter to himself, “I’m hallucinating again.”

He brings his raw knuckles up to harshly rub at his eyes before staring at Clarke again, blinking rapidly before bringing his knuckles back up to his face. Clarke gently grabs his closest wrist stopping his movements before he can do more damage to either his knuckles or bruised face; she can’t help but notice his lack of fingernails as she lets go and he defensively tucks his hand back to his chest.

“We’re real Murphy,” Clarke informs him, not truly believing _ he _ is quite real.

“What the hell happened to you?” Bellamy moves forward to address Murphy but stops in his tracks as he notices Murphy trying to push himself into the tree behind him in an attempt to get away.

Murphy’s eyes barely meet his as he mumbles out, “Grounders.”

Clarke gets up, pulling Bellamy with her as she moves into a loose huddle with the three of them.

“He’s been tortured,” Clarke informs them, whispering as she quickly glances back to look at the still unmoving Murphy.

“Grounders,” Bellamy agrees with a glance to Octavia, she nods somberly back. 

Miller huffs, glancing at Murphy one last time before slinging his gun over his back and heading in the opposite direction.

“Miller,” Octavia hisses at him, “Where are you going?”

Miller glances over his shoulder not stopping his stride away from them, “I gotta take a piss, continue without me.” 

“Let him go,” Bellamy huffs, “he’ll be back. Besides, we have bigger concerns right now.”

All eyes turn to the bigger concern as he lets out a wet cough, his whole body shaking with the effort and likely with the pain that it causes him.

“Okay,” Clarke mumbles, steadying herself before turning back towards Murphy.

She approaches Murphy cautiously, Bellamy and Octavia slowly moving closer behind her, and kneels a foot away to give him space.

“Murphy, how long were you with the Grounders for?” Clarke’s voice comes out so soft, softer than any of the hundred had ever addressed Murphy. 

“You guys ditched me in the woods-”

“Banished for murder,” Bellamy feels the need to correct, instantly regretting it when Murphy turns a bloodstained smile his direction.

“Riight, murrderr,” he slurs his way through, eyes looking somewhere off in the woods as he laughs like he has just told a great joke.

Both Bellamy and Octavia look to Clarke with confusion and amounting alarm on their faces.

“He’s in shock, probably from the blood loss… among other things.” Clarke shakes her head somewhat sadly before turning her attention back to Murphy; Bellamy and Octavia hesitantly do the same.

Murphy chuckles some more to himself before continuing, “So you guys ditched me in the woods _for murder_ and I survived a couple of days—like maybe three—before the grounders jumped me and dragged me to their _fun_ _camp_.” Sarcasm and bitter resentment drip off every word out of his mouth as he looks back down at his bloodstained torso.

“I was there for, I don’t know, a week at most. I escaped last night and have been stumbling around these damn woods ever since. Well that is until I got caught up in that stupid trap.” A wry smile breaks out on Murphy’s face as he proudly shakes his mangled ankle. 

The group share wary looks among themselves as Murphy pokes at a particularly nasty gash on his abdomen, fingers fiddling absentmindedly with it in a grotesque version of a child exploring something it doesn’t understand; Clarke swats his hand away when she notices him playing with it and receives a huff in response.

“Murphy,” Octavia starts hesitantly causing Murphy to eye her suspiciously, “are you sure it was last night that you escaped?”

“Yeah, genius, I was tortured ’m not brain dead.”

The group take another moment to cautiously look at one another, dutifully ignoring Murphy’s growing suspicion.

“And you’re sure you were only on your own three days before they captured you?” Clarke’s voice still carries that lilt to it, the one that reminds Murphy of a mother talking to her child and it is starting to grate on him. 

“Did I or did I not _ just _tell baby Blake over there that I’m not brain dead?” When Clarke just gives him an irritated look he huffs again before continuing. “Yeah, I’m sure. It was only three maybe four days- What? Why are you guys looking at me like that? Spit it out.” Murphy’s voice has gone back to its familiar nasally whine and if the situation wasn’t so shitty Bellamy would almost feel nostalgic of it.

“It’s been over three months Murphy,” Bellamy finally admits in a whisper.

Murphy makes direct eye contact with him as he asks, “What?”

“We banished you over three months ago, so if the grounders got you after three days and you only just escaped last night then that means…” Bellamy trails off not able to meet Murphy’s eyes anymore, guilt sitting heavily in his chest.

All eyes turn to Murphy as he lets out hysterical laughter, head tipped back against the tree showing off the abused flesh of his neck.

“Of course, of fucking course! Just my luck.” Murphy continues to laugh, looking every bit the crazed madman that he very well might be at this point. 

“Should have just finished the job, Blake. You kicked the crate out from under me but didn’t have the decency to let the rope do its goddamn job.” Murphy lets out a quiet wheeze as he coughs up more blood. “Always were a coward, weren’t you Bellamy? Could never _ really _ get a job done, always half-assing it. You couldn’t build a real wall, couldn’t be a proper leader, couldn’t save Charlotte. Couldn’t even _ kill me properly _.”

Bellamy knows that Murphy is trying to antagonize him but instead of feeling anger at his words all he can feel is pity, pity and guilt.

“FINISH THE JOB, BELLAMY!”

Everyone startles backward at Murphy’s sudden yelling and he starts coughing up mouthfuls of blood for his efforts. 

“We’re going to get you help Murphy,” Bellamy’s voice wavers as he looks at the broken shell of the boy who used to look at him with so much admiration in his eyes, the boy he in turn used to look at with such fondness. 

But that admiration has long since faded, replaced with a storm of emotions, bitter emotions. He looks at Bellamy now with eyes full of bitter hatred and scorned betrayal, and damn if that doesn’t hurt. But Bellamy has to admit that Murphy has every right to look at them like that, especially to look at Bellamy like that. He had been stupid and immature, had let his emotions decide the fate of a life instead of using common sense. Obviously, no one had predicted what would happen to Murphy when they banished him, Bellamy had kind of expected he would die out there in the woods or maybe come back begging to be let back but not this. Never this. 

“Please,” Murphy’s voice has gone pleading now, all fight drained out of him. “Please, just finish it.”

Murphy looks up at Bellamy with wet eyes and Bellamy is suddenly struck with how young he looks now that the anger has seeped out of him. And fuck, he is young, as young as Octavia; and maybe he had deserved to get banished, maybe he didn’t, but one thing is for sure he didn’t deserve this. No one deserves this.

“No,” Bellamy whispers, more to himself than anyone else but Murphy gives him a look of betrayal all the same.

“C’mon Blake, we all know you want to. You’ve wanted to for a while now. You wanted to push the crate out from under me, wanted to throw me off that cliff, hell just now you almost shot me. Nobody blames you for wanting to Bellamy, just _ finish it _. It’ll be easy, c’mon,” Murphy reasons with him, eyes still wet with unshed tears. 

“No, Murphy, we’re going to help you,” Clarke tries to soothe, hand coming to rest gently on Murphy’s shoulder.

“_Help me _ ? You’re going to _ help me _?” Murphy snarks, venom back in full force. “You know what you can do to help me, take one of those fancy guns and Shoot. Me.”

Murphy starts coughing again, spitting up more blood in the process. He grabs at his chest and leans against the tree, eyes closed as he lets out a low moan.

“Murphy, hey, you have to stay with us. Open your eyes.”

Clarke leans over Murphy, slapping him lightly on the face until his eyes shutter open; he instantly starts batting her hand away, eyes slowly blinking back closed.

“Leave me alone,” he groans, slumping further back against the tree, “if you people don’t have the decency to kill me at least leave me to die in peace!”

Clarke moves her hand from Murphy’s face to his neck checking for a pulse, much to Murphy’s chagrin. After successfully finding Murphy’s pulse, with no help from Murphy’s swatting hands, she stands up and motions Bellamy and Octavia over to her.

“His pulse is thready and he has lost a lot of blood, we need to get him out of here now,” Clarke informs them in a hushed whisper, not that Murphy seems coherent enough to pay attention to their whispered conversation anyway. 

“We have a couple of hours until dusk, if that,” Octavia points out, glancing at Murphy as he chokes up more blood.

“We’ll head back to Arkadia now; we’ll have to camp overnight somewhere and then get him back as soon as possible.”

Bellamy and Octavia nod along to Clarke’s plan as Miller approaches from behind. He glances at Murphy suspiciously before joining the group.

“So, what’s the plan?”

“We’re heading back to camp Miller; do you have all your stuff?”

Miller adjusts his gun warily eyeing Murphy before nodding.

“So, are we leaving him here or…” Miller lets his sentence trail off as he glances between his gun and Bellamy.

“We’re not killing him, Miller,” Bellamy states firmly, smacking Miller’s hands off his gun.

Miller glances back to where Murphy has fully fallen onto the forest floor, looking pale as death and blood still steadily oozing from his various wounds.

“Well, we aren’t taking him with us!”

Miller is enthusiastically waving his arms about, hoping that will further prove his disapproval of that plan.

“If we leave him here, he’ll die,” Clarke voices, looking at Miller with disbelief. 

“Yeah, well we banished him; he was going to die then. What’s the difference?”

Clarke takes a step back as if slapped, shaking her head and walking over to check on Murphy, physically removing herself from the conversation.

“That was then,” Bellamy asserts gruffly, glancing over to where Clarke is tending to an exasperated Murphy. “We aren’t those same people, Nathan. We’re not going to leave one of our own behind.”

_ One of our own _, Miller mouths shaking his head at the thought. He huffs, turning his back on the group favoring looking out into the woods.

“So, we’re just going to give up on our hunting expedition, for what? For him?”

Miller whips around to point at Murphy, tension in his stance and face scrunched up in frustration. Before one of the other three can answer him, Murphy is coughing and gesturing to his damaged leg.

“Looks like your hunting expedition was already a success, Miller.” Murphy’s gaze is on the clouds passing by overhead but he wears his signature smirk like a mask.

Bellamy is yet again hit with the odd nostalgia of Murphy’s bitter humor but knows it’s not the time or the place to laugh; that does not, however, stop a small smile from playing on his lips.

“Well, hopefully, Lincoln and the others will bag us some deer. And if not, we already scavenged extra rations from the dropship,” Octavia states sternly. 

“Yeah,” Miller huffs, looking away from Murphy’s bloody form, “yeah, I guess we did.”

Murphy gives the sky a bloodstained smile at Miller’s words, moving to grip his abdomen as a new stream of blood oozes out. He smacks Clarke’s hand away when she tries to bandage it but Clarke is nothing if not persistent and she eventually gets a makeshift bandage wrapped around him.

“He can’t walk on his own,” Clarke addresses Bellamy as she moves to stand up and put her pack back on.

“Yeah.” Bellamy nods, glancing from Murphy to Clarke. “I got him.”

Bellamy hands his gun over to Octavia who takes it like it’s diseased and Clarke takes his pack before he has a chance to object to it.

Bellamy moves over to where Murphy is still staring somewhat blankly at the sky above and hesitantly hovers over him eyes roving over the seemingly endless cuts, bruises, and burns that litter his skin.

“What, never seen a damsel in distress before,” Murphy bites out but his eyes give away the fear that is swirling around him like a thick fog.

“Never one as pretty as you,” Bellamy bites back halfheartedly, no malice in his words.

Murphy scoffs at him, turning his gaze away as his cheeks go faintly pink. He lifts his arms and waves at Bellamy in a clear_ get on with it _motion, eyes resolutely not looking at him.

Bellamy goes to lift him and then stops, glancing at Murphy for too long to be comfortable before addressing him.

“You’re shaking,” Bellamy points out dumbly, causing Murphy to look at him as if he’s stupid.

Murphy tries to suppress his shivering but all that accomplishes is him letting out a long groan as he tenses his sore muscles.

“Here,” Bellamy says, slipping off his jacket and quickly wrapping it around Murphy before he can protest to the gesture.

“I’m not your boyfriend, Blake,” Murphy huffs out but he lets Bellamy put his arms through the sleeves all the same.

Bellamy gives Murphy a second to adjust, his breath becoming laborious from the effort of putting on the jacket. Bellamy turns his head away to try and give Murphy privacy as he tries to calm his breathing and makes unintentional eye contact with Clarke. She looks down at Murphy, eyes growing slightly wet with emotion before she turns her back on them. Bellamy turns back to Murphy, making sure to make eye contact as he prepares to lift him.

“Okay, on three. One-” Bellamy lifts Murphy in one quick yet gentle movement, adjusting him hesitantly in his bridal-style hold.

“What happened to two and three, asshole?” Murphy grunts a little as he shifts in Bellamy’s hold, grumpy frown in place.

After several moments alternating between huffing and moving around in Bellamy’s arms, Murphy finally takes notice of how Bellamy is holding him.

“What, is Clarke going to pronounce us as husband and wife now?”

Bellamy glances down at Murphy in confusion before Murphy raises an accusing eyebrow at him and Bellamy gets the hint, subconsciously adjusting him in his hold.

“Only if I get to be the husband,” Bellamy retorts, a smile on his face but when he looks back down at Murphy he’s not smiling. He is vacantly staring at Bellamy’s face, body grown limp in his hold.

Suddenly Murphy looks up, directly into Bellamy’s eyes, a serious expression on his face.

“Woooow,” he slurs, unintentionally spraying blood onto Bellamy’s shirt.

“What?” 

“Your freckles are even prettier up close,” Murphy whispers and then promptly passes out in Bellamy’s arms. 

A small, secret smile graces Bellamy’s lips as he tucks Murphy closer to his chest and falls in line behind Octavia.

**. · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . ·**

Bellamy watches the crackling fire as it paints the cave wall in warm amber light, flickering and popping as the wood steadily burns. He moves his gaze slowly over to where Clarke and Octavia sleep side-by-side, a soft snore emitting from Clarke as she sleeps soundly. Miller is passed out in his own sleeping bag a few feet away from them, snore loud enough to raise the dead, yet somehow everybody in the cave sleeps through it.

Finally, Bellamy lets his gaze land on the boy on the opposite side of the fire, whose body is in a defensive curl, face contorted in pain even in sleep. He lets his eyes track the slow, labored way the boy’s chest rises and falls telling him the boy is still alive. He notices the way his eyes flitter this way and that, the way he whimpers every now and again, telling him of the horrors the boy must be seeing even in sleep. He sees the way the boy’s whole body glistens in the firelight with sweat telling him of the fever, the way he shivers from the blood loss, the way he trembles from the nightmares.

Bellamy looks down at his own hands and wonders where he went wrong. He had come so far in these last few months, from the rebel king of unwanted delinquents to an impromptu leader of a band of_ reformed _teenagers. He had made a lot of mistakes along the way, no doubt about it, but his biggest mistake lay not three feet away from him and he doesn’t have the faintest idea of how to fix him.

The map of the horrors that Murphy had endured from the Grounders would forever be etched into his skin, a small visualization of the horrors that are no doubt forever etched into his mind.

Murphy wheezes wetly pulling Bellamy from his thoughts as he glances back at the boy in time to see his whole body seize. It’s then that the mumbling starts, quiet at first, too quiet to understand, but it steadily grows louder as Murphy tosses and turns on the cave floor.

“Please,” Murphy starts begging, “please I don’t know. Plea- I don’t know, I don’t know anything. Please, please, I don’t, I don’t know!”

At this point Murphy is nearly howling, his voice shrill and wrecked, so far lost in the horrors of his mind. Bellamy moves swiftly, gently grabbing Murphy by the shoulders as he tries to soothe him awake.

“Hey, hey, Murph. It’s me, it’s Bellamy, you got to wake up buddy.”

Murphy’s eyes shoot open, although his eyes give away that he is still trapped in his nightmares. His gaze darts around the cave, seeing shadows of things that aren’t there. Finally, his gaze locks onto Bellamy but there is no recognition in his blue irises. 

“No, no, no,” he stutters, scrambling backward away from Bellamy, “Please, I, I don’t know. I promise I don’t know.”

Bellamy moves to touch Murphy again, trying to pull him out of his nightmare, but that turns out to be the wrong move as Murphy hastily curls into a ball and_ screams_.

The sound is inhuman, animalistic pain and it continues for several seconds before tapering off into a hoarse whimper. Murphy curls even tighter into himself as he groans from the pain of jostling his injured body. Bellamy wants to reach out and help him but he knows at this point it will only serve to make matters worse.

Clarke and Octavia are suddenly behind him, worried faces turned toward the cowering Murphy; Miller remains in his sleeping bag but looks concerned as well.

“What did you do to him?” Octavia questions, eyes not leaving Murphy’s form.

“I, I didn’t do anything. He was having a nightmare, I just tried to wake him.”

Clarke nods sleepily, moving to huddle next to Murphy as she hums a lullaby under her breath. Shockingly it actually seems to calm Murphy down and he uncurls slightly as Clarke begins to run her fingers through his matted hair, gently working out the bloody mats. From this angle Bellamy can see the tears that flow down his face, streaking the blood there in almost hypnotic patterns. He actually relaxes enough to lean into Clarke’s hand, breath coming out in low ragged puffs.

And then Miller has to ruin it all by talking. 

“Can we go back to sleep now?”

Murphy’s eyes shoot open and he quickly glances around truly taking in the room around him for the first time. He immediately jerks his head out of Clarke’s hand as if burned and he looks at them all as if he is seeing them for the first time.

“What happened?” He asks roughly, wiping away the tears on his face and smearing the blood around in the process.

“Nightmare,” Bellamy informs him hesitantly, the three of them still awkwardly huddled around him. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, refusing to make eye contact with any of them.

Clarke steps away, coming back with a bottle of water, forcibly giving it to Murphy when he doesn’t take it.

“Drink,” she orders as she gently undoes his bandage, wincing when she reveals what’s underneath.

“We need to get him back to camp,” Clarke addresses Bellamy, Octavia already moving to grab her things.

Miller, who had already rolled over and gone back to sleep, sits up as Octavia noisily moves around the cave packing up their things.

“Wait, what are you doing? It’s hours until sunrise!”

“Plans changed Miller, we’re heading back to camp now.”

Miller gets up and out of his sleeping bag at this to confront Bellamy head on.

“You have got to be kidding me,” he protests, “we have barely had an hour’s rest-”

“It’s been nearly two hours,” Octavia interjects, packing up Miller’s sleeping bag.

“Still, the woods are dangerous at night, we won’t be able to see a thing.”

Clarke gets up from beside Murphy, stepping past Miller to her bag to retrieve more bandages.

“We’ll just have to take that risk,” she adds.

“Have you forgotten that he _ killed _ Charlotte?”

Bellamy looks directly into Miller’s eyes, “That is as much our fault as it is his.”

Clarke pauses in her bandaging to glance up at Bellamy and when she meets his eyes she nods, guilt and so much more evident on her face.

Octavia moves between Bellamy and Miller, sensing the tension between the two.

“Look, Miller, we’re too far out to get a radio signal to camp so you can either come with us now or wait until morning and try and find your way back by yourself.” 

Miller begrudgingly moves to put on his boots and pack up his things, and Bellamy mouths _ thank you _ to Octavia.

With a quick glance at Murphy, Bellamy notices he is still refusing to look at any of them and is staying unusually quiet, no snarky comment or annoying commentary to add. As Bellamy’s gaze wanders further down to where Clarke is working the old bandage off, he thinks he knows why; the wound on Murphy’s abdomen is a nasty thing, blood and other liquids still oozing out of it.

“How bad is it?”

Clarke glances up at him before focusing on rebandaging Murphy. “He’s still losing blood and if we’re not careful this will get infected. The sooner we get him back, the better. He needs proper medical attention.”

Bellamy nods wearily, eyes tracking up and down Murphy’s injured body. When Clarke finishes the new bandage and moves to grab her own pack, Bellamy takes her place beside Murphy.

“You ready?” He asks gently, hands hovering over Murphy’s shoulder and knee.

Murphy nods numbly, eyes still resolutely on the floor of the cave. Bellamy takes that as his okay to pull Murphy into his arms, doing his best to avoid Murphy’s most injured areas.

Bellamy expects the same protest as the last time he picked him up or at least some shifting around but all Murphy does is press his body closer to Bellamy’s in an attempt to seek out body heat. Murphy’s body shakes as he tucks his head under Bellamy’s chin, silent for the first time since Bellamy met him.

**. · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . ·**

They arrive outside Arkadia just as dawn breaks, the sun painting the valley in light as the world wakes up; Bellamy would almost think it’s tranquil if it weren’t for the boy passed out in his arms. Murphy has long since passed out in Bellamy’s arms, bloodied drool making a puddle on Bellamy’s shirt where his head rests.

The gate creaks open as they come into view of the camp, two concerned guards waving them in as they approach. Clarke had radioed ahead as soon as they had come into range and Bellamy spots Abby and Jackson standing by inside the gates awaiting their arrival.

Several other people hover near the gate curiosity at their sudden, noisy arrival drawing a crowd. Abby and Jackson rush over as soon as the group breaks the threshold into camp, Abby letting out an audible gasp when her eyes land of Murphy.

“Jackson, go get a bag of AB-positive ready,” Abby instructs as she jogs alongside Bellamy towards the infirmary, eyes cataloging his injuries.

Jackson rushes ahead to do as Abby instructed, nobody thinks to question how she knows his blood type. Bellamy hugs Murphy a little closer and quickens his pace, Murphy groaning at the jostling as he comes in and out of consciousness. Clarke talks to her mother as they walk, informing her of the extent of Murphy’s injuries, behind them Octavia and surprisingly Miller follow their lead into the medical section of the Ark.

Jackson has just finished hooking up a bag of blood as they enter and he motions for Bellamy to set Murphy on the exam table nearest him. Bellamy moves forward and as gently as possible lays Murphy down. He whines at the loss of body heat trying to cling to Bellamy in his sleep.

Bellamy keeps one hand on Murphy’s shoulder when he refuses to let go in his pain-induced exhaustion. Abby and Jackson buzz around his prone form, cutting off his tattered clothes and Clarke’s makeshift bandage as they begin to tend to his wounds.

Murphy starts screaming, his whole body arcing off the table, as Abby disinfects the deep laceration across his abdomen. 

“Hold him down,” Abby orders as she tries to get a proper look at the nasty wound.

Bellamy shifts his grip on Murphy holding him down as gently as possible.

“Stop… stop.”

Murphy writhes in Bellamy’s loose grip, trying to get away from Abby’s prodding.

“Please… I don’t… please…”

Murphy’s cries for help get louder as Abby attempts to get a better look at the wounds.

“No, no, no, no, no!”

Bellamy tightens his grip on Murphy’s shoulder as he tries to push Abby away.

“St- Please… I’ll tell you… don’t…”

Murphy’s whole body starts flailing in a revitalized effort to push them off and away from himself. The arm that Bellamy isn’t holding swats blindly in all directions knocking over the IV stand. 

“Stop! You don’t have- I’ll be good, don’t do this please. Please! St- Plea- Don’t…”

Murphy trails off into incoherent mumbling as he kicks his legs out, tagging Abby in the face and knocking her to the ground.

“Please, please, please…”

Murphy’s babbling chants go unanswered as Jackson moves to help Abby off the floor and Clarke sets the IV stand back in place. Bellamy tightens his hold on Murphy’s shoulder, wincing when Murphy lets out a high pitch whine and struggles to get out of his hold.

“You don’t have to do this! You don’t have to do this!”

Miller rushes to Murphy’s other side glancing up at Bellamy before copying his stance and hold on Murphy. Octavia moves to hold his legs down as he tries to kick Abby and Jackson off of him as they continue disinfecting wounds.

“Stop, stop, stop!” 

Murphy continues to try and break free of their hold as Abby probes his wound, shrieking at the top of his lungs with distant eyes.

“Jackson, get the anesthesia, this is going to take a while.”

Jackson rushes to the other side of the room scrambling around in a drawer until he finds a blue labeled syringe, hurrying back over to give it to Abby.

“Hold him steady,” Abby yells, trying to be heard over Murphy’s constant wailing as she plunges the syringe into his chest.

Murphy’s struggling trickles to a stop as the anesthesia takes effect and he slowly falls unconscious on the table. Bellamy takes his hands off Murphy and hesitantly steps back from the table as if Murphy will spring back up if he’s not careful, with a glance up he sees Octavia doing the same.

Miller still stands on the other side of Murphy’s now unconscious body hands still loosely on Murphy’s shoulder, eyes frozen on his bloodstained form. 

“Miller.”

Miller glances up making eye contact with Bellamy, eyes filled with horror that is quickly replaced with embarrassment as he looks back down at his hands that still rest on Murphy.

“Sorry,” he murmurs as he backs up and moves out of the way, circling the table to stand behind Bellamy.

Bellamy steps back from the table as Jackson closes the sheet effectively shutting off the four of them from the operation, he walks over to where Clarke is sitting on a chair across the room slumping into the one beside her. Octavia and Miller join them shortly after, all eyes stay on the shadows moving around behind the white curtain.

With a glance Bellamy catches a look of horror painted onto Miller’s face, the same look most of the people in Mount Weather had when they were rescued, the same face Clarke had when she and Bellamy pulled the lever, the same face Murphy had when Bellamy hung him, the same face…

“Hey, you alright?”

Miller glances over at him before looking down at his bloodstained hands, “There was so much blood.”

Octavia and Clarke shift in their seats to half-look at Miller, although some of their attention can’t be pried away from the foreboding sheet across the room.

“I’m sorry,” Miller starts, looking at Clarke remorsefully, “for saying I wanted to leave him in the woods. I just… I don’t want anyone else to get hurt.”

Clarke nods, tears pooling in her bright eyes as her gaze flickers between the three of them.

“None of us do.”

Miller nods, all eyes returning to the other side of the room as frenzied chatter and labored breathing fill the room. 

Abby’s voice cuts out from behind the sheet as erratic beeping fills the room, tense silence follows and Bellamy fights the urge to get up and find out what is going on. Octavia curls closer to him, head resting on his shoulder as sleep slowly overcomes her. Miller is quick to follow, soft snores emit from his slumped over form. 

After several long minutes, Clarke reaches out for Bellamy’s hand, grasping it like a lifeline.

“Did we do this?” Clarke turns to Bellamy with tears glistening in her eyes, guilt and sorrow coming off her in waves.

At first she is met with confusion, Bellamy has no idea what she’s talking about but the longer she stares dreadful realization washes over him.

“Clarke…”

A broken sob emits from her as if Bellamy saying that one word confirmed her darkest fears. She turns to look at the sheet, squeezing Bellamy’s hand tighter.

“We did this. We did this, Bellamy. He-” Clarke’s voice breaks as she buries her head into Bellamy’s shoulder, her whole body shaking with silent sobs.

Bellamy holds her tightly as tremors wrack through her body, slowly subsiding as she too falls into a fitful sleep. With Octavia asleep on one shoulder and Clarke resting on the other, Miller passed out next to Octavia, Bellamy continues to watch the shadows behind the curtain as he waits for news.

**. · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . ·**

Bellamy blinks his eyes open, trying to take in the unfamiliar surroundings and numbness in his arms. He shifts, attempting to get out from under whatever is holding his arm in an uncomfortable position and accidentally pushes Clarke and Octavia off him in the process.

Clarke unceremoniously falls to the ground in a heap, a low groan escaping her as she sits up and blinks up at him grumpily.

Next to him, Octavia has a similar expression of frustration on her face as she adjusts in her chair.

“Sorry,” Bellamy mumbles as he rubs the sleep from his eyes.

He reaches down to help Clarke off the floor, a gesture she gratefully accepts as her mind catches up with the rest of her and she glances across the room.

“Any news?”

Before either of them can answer Clarke’s question, Jackson emerges from behind the curtain, splattered with blood and eyes weary, he notices them after a moment and moves toward them with a concerned look.

“Good, you’re all still here.”

He pauses a few feet from them, a strange expression on his face as he inspects them, medical mask still firmly in place.

Bellamy glances to Clarke but her attention is too focused on Jackson to notice, trying to take in his odd behavior no doubt the same way Bellamy is.

“Is everything okay?”

It’s Clarke who asks the obvious question as the three of them stand to meet Jackson, preparing for the worst. Jackson regards them nervously, glancing back as if Abby will come save him from whatever he doesn’t want to tell them.

“Did any of you leave here at any point or have contact with anyone upon returning to camp?”

The three of them look among themselves anxiously before shaking their heads tentatively at Jackson, confusion and apprehension sitting heavily in all of them.

“Just you and Abby,” Bellamy assures, though he’s not sure why it’s important.

“Good, okay.”

Jackson turns to go back to the sectioned off area of the medical wing, eyes tired and uncertain.

“Wait, Jackson, what’s going on?”

Jackson half-turns to address them, “Just stay there and don’t leave, I’ll be right back.” He turns to leave again before mentioning, “And don’t let anyone in either.” 

“Wait, how’s Murphy doing?”

Jackson pauses with the flap of the sheet in hand shaking his head he doesn’t turn around instead just repeats, “Don’t leave, I’ll be back.”

The trio stand there in silence as Jackson’s muffled voice resumes hurriedly talking with Abby, her replies curt and strained.

“What was that all about?” Octavia breaks the heavy silence looking to Clarke for an answer and Bellamy finds himself doing the same.

“I, I don’t know.” Clarke shakes her head in confusion, glancing between them and the curtain.

Jackson reemerges a couple of tense minutes later, four syringes in hand, and an apprehensive air to him. Blood still covers the front of his scrubs but he has grabbed fresh gloves and disposed of his medical mask while he was gone. 

As he approaches them again trepidation rolls off him in waves, his anxiety showing in the shake of his hands and the weariness of his eyes. He pulls up a chair and sits across from them, motioning for them to sit down as well.

“Jackson,” Clarke starts, pausing when Jackson’s head snaps up to look at her as if he is surprised to hear her talk. With a glance at the other two Clarke changes the course of her sentence. “Are you… okay?”

Momentarily forgetting about the medical gloves he is wearing Jackson rubs a hand over his face and then runs it through his hair before looking back up at Clarke to address her.

“I’ve never seen… the amount of blood… I don’t think…” Jackson pauses again after several failed sentences, looking at the three of them in turn as if his eyes will convey the point he is trying to get across.

“He’s one of ours, right? So, the grounders, they did this to him?” 

Before anyone can answer Jackson is shaking his head muttering to himself, “This isn’t why I came out here.” He takes a moment to collect himself before he looks back up at them.

“We found something while we were treating him, the grounders they infected him with something. It’s more than likely that it spread to you as well.”

“Biological warfare.”

Jackson nods along to Clarke’s words adding, “Abby believes it’s some kind of hemorrhagic fever… whatever it is this was intentional.”

As if on cue Miller wakes up in a fit of coughing, blood splattering across the floor onto everyone’s shoes. His eyes are glued to the fresh blood as shaking hands come up to his own face. 

“What the hell?”

Jackson sighs as he grabs the first needle and moves towards a stunned Miller. 

“We were hoping it wouldn’t spread so quickly, but… The sooner you get the antibiotics on board the better.”

Miller is in such a state of shock that he doesn’t react when the needle goes into his arm, eyes still staring at the blood that now paints the floor. Without warning he grips his stomach and vomits blood; Jackson calmly moves to the side avoiding the brunt of the spray.

Octavia rolls up her sleeve and extends her arm for Jackson as he approaches her, although her eyes stay glued to Miller’s now shaking form. Clarke retrieves a water bottle for Miller which he graciously accepts, and then lets Jackson administer the antibiotic. 

Bellamy shrugs off his jacket as Jackson moves in front of him needle at the ready but he stops before Jackson can stick the needle in his arm.

“How is he? Murphy?”

Jackson sighs again, glancing over his shoulder at the ominous white divider as if it will answer Bellamy’s question.

“He’s… he’s not good…”

Bellamy turns pleading eyes up at Jackson still not giving up his arm until he gets real answers.

“C’mon Jackson.”

Jackson turns a somewhat betrayed look at Clarke before whispering a small curse.

“This first,” he states motioning to Bellamy’s arm, “and _ your _ mother can’t know.”

The four delinquents nod fervently as Jackson stabs Bellamy’s arm giving him a tiny scowl.

“Technically this falls under patient-doctor confidentiality so I shouldn’t be telling you any of this,” he pauses to give them all a stern look. “He has numerous burns, cuts, internal bleeding, he’s malnourished-”

“We already know all that,” Miller interrupts anxiously.

Jackson glares at Miller reproachfully causing Miller to throw his hands up and sit back quietly.

“Fine, you want it straight?” Jackson waits until they nod cautiously to continue. “He has numerous deep lacerations covering his back, chest, arms, and legs; a deep puncture wound in the abdomen that has become severely infected; severe malnutrition and dehydration; abrasions around his neck, wrist, ankles; hematoma bruising covering at least sixty-five percent of his body; second to third-degree burns cover most of his legs and the underside of his feet; at least three broken ribs along with a fractured, mangled ankle; not to mention all of his fingernails have been ripped out.” 

Jackson holds up a finger when Bellamy goes to talk, taking a deep breath before resuming.

“There doesn’t seem to be a part of his body that isn’t in immense pain right now, which is why we put him into a medically induced coma-”

“You put him in a coma,” Bellamy exclaims, disbelief evident in his tone.

Jackson groans as he drops his head into his hands, rubbing frustratedly at the top of his head.

“Is that really all you got out of that,” Jackson mumbles, head still facing the ground, “he shouldn’t even be _ alive _.” 

The four of them are silenced by this, eyes hesitantly looking among each other and then back at the frazzled man in front of them.

Bellamy stubbornly questions, “Then how is he?”

“John Murphy is a survivor, always has been.”

They all startle as Abby pushes aside the curtain and walks over to join them. She looks haunted, eyes tired and skin pale, as if she has been up for days or weeks without rest. Clarke rushes over to her mother and embraces her tightly before pulling back and giving her a concerned once over.

“Mom, are you okay?”

Abby nods wearily glancing over Clarke’s shoulder at the rest of the group before holding her daughter firmly and repeating her question back to her.

“I’m okay mom… how is…?”

Clarke lets the unfinished question hang in the air as Abby composes herself walking over to the garbage can to dispose of her bloodied gloves. 

“He’ll survive. He’s a survivor.”

Clarke throws a glance over at Bellamy who stands up and walks over to them, Octavia not far behind him.

“Are you sure he’ll survive? Jackson said you put him in a coma and-” Bellamy tapers off as Abby shoots Jackson a look, before turning tired eyes onto Bellamy.

“Yes, we put him into a medically induced coma. For his own good. If he was awake right now, he’d just be in pain.”

Bellamy starts to argue but Abby waves him off with a tired motion of her hand before addressing the group as a whole. 

“Look we are all sick and need rest.” Abby motions to Jackson and he jumps to, herding them to the opposite side of the medical wing.

“We, fortunately, don’t have any patients right now, well I guess besides you lot… and Abby and myself now that I think of it,” Jackson nervously rambles talking more to himself than to the four of them, “so you guys can each take up a cot.”

Miller practically drops into the bed as soon as Jackson has finished speaking, not even taking off his boots before his snores fill the otherwise silent room.

Octavia pulls off the sword she must have forgotten she was still wearing as Bellamy moves to unlace his boots. 

Clarke shrugs off her jacket laying it over the end of the bed and even Jackson moves to crawl into one of the empty cots.

Clarke pauses in rolling back the covers when she notices Abby walking across the room, back to where Murphy lies sectioned off.

“Mom?” Abby glances back at them not pausing in her dutiful stride.

“Go to sleep honey, I’ll be right there, I just need to check on something.”

Clarke nods tiredly as she rolls over, pulling the blanket tightly around her.

Octavia mumbles a tired night before doing the same and with a glance to his right Jackson and Miller are already out cold.

With a heavy sigh Bellamy drops onto his own cot, falling into an uneasy slumber for the second time this morning.

**. · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . ·**

Light streams through the dirty skylight overhead, simultaneously signaling late afternoon and attempting to blind Bellamy. 

Sitting up in bed Bellamy gives a cautionary glance around the medical wing finding Octavia seemingly talking to herself in a corner, Clarke in deep discussion with Abby, Jackson and Miller still in a deep slumber. 

Clarke motions him over once she takes notice of him, a tired smile making its way to her face. Bellamy forgoes shoes instead padding over to them barefoot, numb feet tingling against the harshly cold metal floor of the Ark. 

“Afternoon,” he mumbles as he drops into the remaining chair.

“You look like hell,” Clarke responds pushing a mug of steaming coffee into his hands.

Bellamy’s nose crinkles at the strong smell but he accepts it all the same muttering, “Thanks.”

After taking several long gulps of the bitter drink he lounges back in his chair running a hand through his unruly curls. 

More awake now Bellamy glances over his shoulder at Octavia who is still talking to herself in the corner; he turns to Clarke with a raised brow.

“What’s up with that?”

Clarke smiles into her own cup of coffee, following Bellamy’s concerned gaze.

“Lincoln and the rest of the hunting party got back about an hour ago. He wasn’t too happy to find Octavia in quarantine.”

“He was about ready to bust down that door,” Abby elaborates, smile matching her daughters’ as she stares fondly at Octavia, “before we made the compromise of letting them talk through the intercom system.”

Upon closer inspection, Bellamy can see Octavia repeatedly holding up her hand to the button that operates the system built into the wall. 

“How long do you think this will last?” 

Abby hums eyes distant, “It’s hard to say. This appears to be a modified strain of hemorrhagic fever. Lincoln told us it passes quickly; it’s not meant to kill only-”

“-weaken the battlefield,” Clarke finishes for her mother, grim expression on her face.

This catches Bellamy’s attention as he glances from Clarke to the wall Octavia is pressed against, like if he tries hard enough he will be able to see through the wall to glare at Lincoln.

“Lincoln knows about this?”

Clarke nods her head and hums when Bellamy still doesn’t turn back to look at them.

“So, does he know why they wanted to infect us,” Bellamy questions turning his attention back to Clarke and Abby.

“He’s not sure that they did, want to infect us that is.”

“If we hadn’t come along Murphy would have died,” Clarke elaborates, “so they probably thought he’d just die in the woods.”

"If they even meant to let him go in the first place," Bellamy ponders, still too tired to put much thought into it.

Bellamy shakes his head, setting his coffee cup aside as his thoughts wander.

“So why wouldn’t they have just killed him then, why infect him and let him go?”

Clarke and Abby shake their heads in unison, matching looks of uncertainty on their faces. 

“We don’t know all the answers yet and once he’s awake I’m sure Murphy will be able to fill us in but for now,” Abby shakily gets up motioning for them to follow her, “we all need rest. The quicker we all get over this the better.”

Bellamy looks to Clarke who gets up to follow her mom, shrugging when Bellamy begrudgingly follows her back over to the cots.

“We’ll have more answers soon,” Clarke promises him as she wraps the flimsy medical sheets around herself.

Slipping into his own bed Bellamy can’t take his eyes or his thoughts off the silhouette across the room and all the trouble he has caused. With a deep sigh Bellamy closes his eyes hoping that when he opens them again he’ll be met with some real answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading this.  
All comments, questions, and constructive criticism welcome!


	2. Tie a Noose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Brief mention of past rape in the last scene of the chapter.

Bellamy walks through Arkadia a sense of déjà vu overcoming him as he makes his way to the medical wing. The sun has yet to rise and yet unease is palpable in the atmosphere, although for an entirely different reason now. 

Murphy has been in Arkadia for a week now and news of his arrival had spread like wildfire through the camp. Unease surrounds his past and the threat of grounder attacks is at an all-time high due to the state they found Murphy in.

Bellamy and the rest of the infected had been cleared several days before yet people still fear the disease and the possibility of contracting it no matter how many times Abby assures everybody that it has passed.

Lincoln has been getting an influx of people coming to him inquiring about Grounders and their war tactics along with the possibility of another attack of biological warfare or worse. Although the truth is that Lincoln doesn’t know why the grounders infected Murphy, if and why they are planning an attack, or what their war tactics are anymore.

The whole camp is on high alert with stress levels through the roof. The remaining hundred are nervous about the return of Murphy and even though Abby won’t say two words on the subject the council is equally concerned about him. Bellamy is worried too, although he is more worried  _ for _ Murphy rather than about him. 

In the days since his own release from the medical wing Bellamy hasn’t been able to keep himself away from that part of the Ark. Abby and Jackson have repeatedly shooed him away from the medical wing when he happens to “wander in” inquiring about Murphy’s health. 

Murphy has yet to wake up even though Abby promises he is getting better and Bellamy will be the first to know once he has awoken.

Still Bellamy can’t stop his feet from carrying him through the Ark to Murphy yet again; he swears he has been in the medical wing more in the last five days than all his time on the Ark put together. 

A nightmare had awoken Bellamy, a nightmare of taut ropes and scared eyes; cold sweat dripping from his forehead Bellamy’s first thought was that he had to go check on Murphy. Even though he knows it’s ludicrous Bellamy can’t help but feel as if Murphy is in some kind of danger. He knows that as soon as he sneaks into the medical wing, he’ll find Murphy sleeping soundly like he always does but he still has to be sure, has to see it for himself.

Bellamy rounds the corner and instead of the familiar sight of the medical wing door he is met with a dozen people crowding the corridor talking in hushed but frantic voices.

His heavy footfalls draw the attention of more than one of the people and before he knows it Octavia is pushing her way through the small crowd to get to him.

“Bell!” 

Bellamy takes in the irritation evident on her pinched face and the exhaustion in the set of her shoulders; Lincoln trails behind her with a nearly identical expression. Actually, everybody in the small crowd of people have the same exhausted irritation to their features. 

“Octavia what are you doing here so early?”

“I could ask you the same thing, Bell,” Octavia gives him a small knowing smirk not letting him defend himself before continuing, “I think we’re all here for the same reason.”

When Octavia motions to the crowd behind her Bellamy turns to look at them, really look at them for the first time. He spots Miller with Bryan huddled in one corner; Raven and Clarke beside them; Harper along with Monty and Jasper; and finally Monroe, Bartlett, and Warren in the opposite corner. 

After looking over the delinquents with a concerned gaze Bellamy turns his attention back to Octavia, raising his eyebrow in question. As if reading his mind Octavia motions to Bellamy leading him over to Clarke.

Upon seeing him Clarke seems to deflate in relief before hardening back up after a moment, eyes set in grim determination. 

“Clarke,” Bellamy greets hesitantly, glancing between her and Raven, “what’s going on?”

“I went to ch-” Clarke begins before Miller takes notice of Bellamy’s arrival, quickly walking over and obliviously cutting off Clarke midsentence. 

“They aren’t letting us in to see Murphy.”

The whole group turns to look at Miller, and Bellamy doubts that he is the only one surprised by the severity of his voice. 

“Wait, Miller, why do you care?” 

Miller seems a mix of stunned, hurt, and embarrassed by Bellamy’s question. Over the last few days they had all been periodically checking on Murphy’s wellbeing. Bellamy and Clarke frequented the medical wing the most, although, Octavia and Miller were there at least once a day as well.

Of course, Miller had attributed his visits to the medical wing to checking on his own health due to the disease they had contracted. Until now Bellamy had assumed that Miller had grown indifferent to Murphy’s presence. 

Back when they had found Murphy in the woods Miller wanted nothing more than to put a bullet in his skull, or at least it seemed that way. After carrying Murphy’s half-dead body all the way back to camp Miller had apologized for wanting to shoot Murphy and then had seemingly fallen into an indifference to him. But now Miller appeared a lot more invested in Murphy.

Bellamy figured it was a mix of things that caused Miller, and certainly everyone gathered, to be so concerned with Murphy. 

Curiosity was thrumming through the camp as of late due to Murphy’s arrival. People were curious about Murphy’s condition, they were curious about the extent of his wounds, they were curious about grounder torture methods, and more than anything they were curious what Murphy meant for the rest of them. Was Murphy the first strike, the first attempted casualty, in a new war? Was Murphy a warning to the Sky people, if so what was the message? 

Sympathy was also chiefly present among the emotions that was stirring around the camp. Word had quickly spread through the camp about the extent of Murphy’s injuries, although no one would admit to being the culprit of the gossip, people had talked. Most people had either forgotten or forgiven Murphy’s past crimes, seeing his time with the grounders as a twisted form of penance. Bellamy wanted to knock a little sense into those people, quite literally. 

However, Bellamy was almost certain that the emotion that sat the heaviest with the majority of the hundred was guilt. Bellamy, and definitely Clarke, had expressed remorse for their decisions concerning Murphy; if they could go back and do it all again, Bellamy never would have banished him, hell he never would have pushed the crate out from under in the first place. It’s easy in retrospect to regret things, to see the way things should have gone, to realize what he should have done but you can’t change the past. The best Bellamy could do now, the best any of them could do, is stand by Murphy now. 

As if proving Bellamy’s point Jasper steps into their conversation, answering his question before Miller has a chance to respond.

“He’s one of us.”

It is simply stated but quite clearly resonates deeply with those of the hundred that are gathered. Bellamy supposes it has something to do with being sent down to a desolate rock to die together that results in a considerable amount of bonding. In addition to that there was also the everyday survival on earth before the rest of the Ark landed, the numerous encounters with the grounders, and the experience with the mountain men that resulted in a fundamental pack mentality among the surviving hundred. 

The gathered survivors murmur their agreement to Jasper’s statement, unified in their resolution to stand by Murphy. 

“Wait, didn’t he try to kill you Jasper?”

“What?”

Several of the people gathered murmur amongst themselves at Warren’s blatant statement and Bellamy notices Monroe nudging her to get her to shut up.

“Listen, we have all made bad choices in the past, Murphy included. We all did what we thought we had to do to survive and we have learned from those mistakes-”

“And we have learned to forgive each other for the mistakes along the way,” Clarke adds, stepping up next to Bellamy. 

The gathered delinquents murmur their agreement again, looking to Clarke and Bellamy for guidance.

“Alright, so how are we doing this?” 

Bellamy looks to Monty who has a fiercely serious expression on his face to match his terse words.

“We could grab some explosives from Raven’s lab,” Jasper readily suggests looking way too excited at the prospect, “we could be in there in a couple minutes.”

Several people perk up at the possibility of blowing things up but before Bellamy has the chance to shut down that idea Raven cuts in.

“Or I could just rewire the lock and we could be in there in seconds.”

“You’re no fun Raven,” Jasper pouts earning a good-natured shove from Raven.

Raven walks over to the sealed door that leads to the infirmary and uses pliers to pop the keycode lock off the wall. She makes quick work of rewiring the system and as promised within seconds the door slides open with a quiet hissing noise. Raven glances over her shoulder with a small smirk before sliding her pliers back into her pocket and entering the infirmary.

Bellamy follows directly behind her and the rest of the delinquents are quick to file in behind them. 

They pass a couple of people in cots, laid up with a cold or a broken hand, but they quickly make their way to the back of the infirmary where a simple white sheet divides Murphy from the rest of the world. Raven pushes the sheet back in one fluid motion, stopping everyone dead in their tracks at what she reveals.

The hospital bed that Bellamy had laid eyes on not twelve hours prior is perfectly made with fresh sheets, the medical equipment that had almost filled the small space is gone, and most importantly the entire area is sans one snarky delinquent. Murphy.

“What the hell?” 

Raven quietly voices what is undoubtedly going through everybody's minds as they stare at the sterile, empty cot before them. 

“Wrong room, or…?” Jasper cracks an uneasy smile that appears to be more of a grimace as he attempts to lighten the mood in the already tense room.

“Where’d he go?” Miller asks, looking to Bellamy as if he has an answer to the question.

Bellamy lets out a low, drawn-out sigh before answering. “I don’t know, but we’re sure as hell going to find out.”

Bellamy and the rest of the delinquents turn back the way they came as heavy footfalls are heard near the front of the infirmary. 

“Someone tell me there’s a backdoor out of this place,” Jasper half-jokes but his body is tense, as are everybody else's. 

Bellamy makes his way to the front of the group, prepared to take whatever consequences their actions will have. He can feel the adrenaline coursing through his body as a shadow draws across the room coming from the open doorway.

Bellamy senses Octavia and Clarke step up next to him as the figure crosses through the threshold, their bodies buzzing with as much nervous energy as his. Hell, the whole lot of them are practically vibrating out of their skin at this point.

Jackson halts in his steps as he sees them, and Bellamy suddenly wonders what kind of sight they make. Half of the group are in defensive poses ready to run and the other half look as if they are prepared to jump Jackson if need be. He raises an eyebrow at Bellamy, unimpressed but not exactly surprised to see him or anybody else here.

“You know breaking into the infirmary is against the law.”

“Wouldn’t be the first illegal thing any of us have done.”

Jackson huffs a laugh, shaking his head at them. “I’m sure it won’t be the last either. Look, why don’t you fix the lock on your way out and I won’t tell Abby any of you were here.”

Bellamy folds his arms not budging a bit when he says, “Where’s Murphy, Jackson?”

“You know I can’t-”

“Save the speech, tell us where our friend is.”

“Friend?” Harper questions Monroe, looking startled at the use of the word.

“Fellow delinquent?” Jasper offers instead, getting some nods of approval.

“Guys, there’s more important things than what we are referring to Murphy as right now,” Monty points out, drawing everyone’s attention back to Jackson who hovers awkwardly in the middle of the room. 

With all eyes back on him Jackson fidgets, internally struggling with how to deal with all the agitated people staring at him.

“I can’t tell you where Murphy is,” Jackson restates, putting up a hand to stop Bellamy before he can interrupt, “I can’t tell you that Murphy was moved out of here about an hour ago. I can’t tell you that he is currently being held in lock up. And I definitely  _ cannot _ tell you that there is currently a council meeting regarding him taking place. In the council room. Right now.”

Bellamy doesn’t wait for Jackson to finish before he’s sprinting out of the room and down the corridor headed straight for the main council room; the rest of the group right behind him. 

Clarke says a quick “Thanks Jackson” on her way out and Raven promises to come back and fix the broken lock. 

When the room has completely cleared Jackson glances over at the empty cot before making the decision to follow the delinquents down the winding corridors of the Ark towards the council room. 

**. · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . ·**

“He can’t stay here. Our children are not safe if someone like that is roaming around free to do as he pleases,” a man with graying hair and a fair complexion states, nodding to himself.

“I agree with Leighton,” a middle-aged woman with auburn hair interjects, “we can’t possibly let someone who has committed such crimes rejoin our society.”

“So we banish him to a fate worse than death? We have all seen what happened to the poor boy the last time he was banished,” Kane argues vehemently against the statements of the two councilmembers. 

“He needs to answer for his crimes,” Abby argues, “we can’t let what he has done go unpunished.”

“Shock lashes then,” another council member pipes up.

“Absolutely not,” Kane readily rejects, “have you seen the condition he is in?”

“I say we put it to a vote,” Leighton suggests, looking exhausted and ready to have the whole ordeal done with so that he can go back to bed. “Everybody in favor of banishing him.”

Leighton lazily raises his hand as the whole room erupts, people begin shouting in protest and in support of banishment. With voices growing steadily louder and louder and arms wildly gesticulating to prove points it goes completely unnoticed when a group of angry and determined teenagers burst into the room.

Bellamy scans the room, quickly spotting Abby at the other end of the circular table that the council uses for its meetings. Bellamy hesitantly steps further into the room, waiting for the irate voices of the council to calm down before interjecting.

“Enough,” Abby shouts as she stands up gaining the attention of the room. “The hour is early and we are all clearly too tired to be making decisions on this matter. We should all go back to our respective rooms and get some sleep. We’ll meet back here and discuss the matter further once we have all had some time to think.”

“What will be done with the boy until then?” 

“He will stay in lock up until the council decides-” Abby cuts herself off as she notices the group of perturbed individuals standing at the back of the room. The rest of the council follow her gaze, most of them looking annoyed at the intrusion.

“Why has Murphy been moved to lock up?” Clarke questions wasting no time in confronting the council, she looks directly to her mom for the answer.

“Clarke, you shouldn’t be here,” Abby states exasperated, “none of you should be here.”

“This is official council business, it does not concern you,” Leighton inserts, looking down his nose at the gathered delinquents. 

“Actually, it does concern us,” Bellamy counters glaring at the obnoxious man, “seeing as you detained one of our people in the middle of the night and then tried to hide the fact that you did it.”

“No one is trying to hide anything, son,” Kane says, attempting to diffuse the situation, “Mr. Murphy was taken into holding after attacking medical staff and injuring two guards.”

“Murphy wouldn’t have done-”

“He came out of his coma in an agitated state, ripped out all of his IVs and knocked Jackson to the floor. I tried to calm him down but he slashed at me with a scalpel,” Abby says, rolling up her sleeve to show them a faint cut that runs up her left arm.

“Not to mention the guard that he jammed the scalpel into and the other one whose ear he nearly bit clean through,” Leighton interjects again causing Bellamy to take a step towards the man only to be stopped when Lincoln gently puts a hand on his arm.

“Murphy only attacked us because we came at him first.”

Everybody turns to look as Jackson enters the room, looking a bit guilty when Abby’s questioning gaze lands on him.

“I would do the same thing if I had what happened to him happen to me,” Jackson continues under the glare of most of the council members. “He woke up to me prodding at one of his wounds and when he reacted as anyone who went through that kind of trauma would, he was attacked by the very people who were supposed to be protecting him.”

“Those guards intervened so that no one would get hurt,” Kane says in a warning tone.

“But people did get hurt,” Raven points out.

“And not just the guards.”

“Jackson, that’s enough,” Abby states harshly, walking partially around the table.

“I thought nobody was trying to hide anything,” Lincoln states calmly, body angling in between Jackson and Abby.

“We’re not,” Kane repeats, body tense as he rounds the table to stand next to Abby, “we simply didn’t want word to get out until we had the situation under control.”

“You call locking Murphy up having things under control? He needs medical attention.”

“Lock up is the safest place for him right now,” Kane states firmly, “he is a danger to himself and to others.”

“Is that the same logic you used when you sent us down here?”

Harper’s words halt the conversation, the councilmembers look shocked but quickly regain composure.

“We are trying to do what is best for our people,” Kane addresses the entire room, trying his best to appease both sides.

“So are we,” Monty retorts, gaining murmured agreements from the other delinquents.

“Your people are our people, we’re trying to do what is best for all of us,” Abby amends, frustration evident in her voice.

“We stopped being your people when you sent us down here to die,” Clarke corrects, anger flaring up in her voice. “We are doing what is in the best interest of our people. Right now, that means finding Murphy and making sure he’s okay.”

“If you care so much about the boy’s safety why did you never disclose his banishment to the council?”

Clarke tenses at the council woman’s words, as do the rest of the gathered delinquents.

“We made a mistake when we banished Murphy,” Bellamy says slowly, looking to Clarke to make sure she’s okay. “And we will live to regret that mistake, but that doesn’t mean we are about to let you make another mistake on his behalf.”

“Yes, but why did you never tell us about him?”

“You never asked,” Clarke yells slightly hysterical at this point. “You never asked about any of them! You never asked about the two  _ children  _ who died when we landed, never asked about the ones who died from disease, never asked about the countless who were murdered at the hands of the grounders. You sent a hundred minors down to the earth  _ to die  _ and expected us to act  _ rationally _ ? And then you question how we deal with the trauma of watching our friends die?”

“Clarke,” Abby sighs softly, trying to reach out to her but Clarke steps back before she’s in arms reach. 

“No,” Clarke argues, “you keep calling us children and expecting us to act like adults. You don’t get to have it both ways, pick one!”

With that Clarke storms out of the room, the rest of the delinquents following her lead. 

**. · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . ·**

“We have to do  _ something _ ,” Monty presses as he watches Jasper anxiously pace from one side of the room to the other.

“I’m pretty sure we did just do something,” Harper points out, gently nudging Monty’s shoulder with her own.

“No, Monty’s right. We need to go find Murphy.”

Bellamy hesitantly glances around Raven’s workshop, where everyone had gathered after they had stormed out of the council room. His gaze lands on Jackson, who had followed their lead and was currently standing in the corner looking as agitated as everyone else.

“Jackson,” Bellamy says halting all other conversations as their focus turns to the man in question. “You said that Murphy was hurt when the guards tried to subdue him.”

Jackson shifts anxiously as he answers. “Yeah, I mean I tried to tell them that he wasn’t in a good state of mind, that he wasn’t seeing clearly.”

Bellamy scrunches up his eyebrows in question, looking to Clarke who appears equally confused.

“What do you mean he ‘wasn’t seeing clearly’?”

Jackson sighs heavily, moving to lean against the wall for support.

“I’ve read about it before, but I’ve never actually seen it. There was a documented case on the Ark, but it was way before my time. They’re called night terrors, think of them as extreme nightmares. They’re often found in people who have PTSD and can present with episodes of screaming, intense fear, and lashing out all while the person is still asleep. I doubt Murphy will even remember attacking the guards.”

The room is dead silent as everyone absorbs this new piece of information. Nobody seems to want to break the heavy silence but curiosity gets the better of Bellamy.

“What did the guards do exactly, Jackson?”

“Not, not much,” Jackson assures him, “they just held him down as Abby administered a sedative.”

“Do you know where they put him?”

Jackson hesitates before meeting Bellamy’s eyes and giving a decisive nod. 

“What are you thinking?” 

Curiosity has seeped into Octaiva’s voice and Bellamy turns to her with a mischievous smile.

“We’re going to need a distraction.”

**. · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . ·**

Bellamy peeks his head around the corner of the dimly lit hallway, quickly spotting Briggs lazily leaning against the wall with his gun tightly held to his chest. 

Bellamy quickly scans the rest of the hallway, after making sure that it’s empty, he ducks back around the corner before he can be spotted. He walks quietly back to where Miller, Raven, and Bryan are waiting for him.

“I only spot one,” he says in a hushed voice checking over his shoulder to make sure that he wasn’t followed.

“Who we got?”

“Briggs, he looks jumpy.”

“Yeah,” Miller agrees, “he’ll be easy.”

Bellamy nods, as Miller shifts to grab his radio quickly changing it to an unused channel. The radio crackles to life as he hits the button and quickly murmurs, “Green light.” 

The radio crackles again as Jasper’s staticky voice emits from it.

“Copy that Eagle One. Go on plan Rescue Fellow Delinquent. Over and out.”

Bellamy rolls his eyes with a smile as they all move further into the shadows of the hallway. Moments later noise erupts from the hallway adjacent to them, and Bellamy motions for the group to crouch down. 

They watch quietly as Briggs jogs by and then wait a couple of moments before standing up. Bellamy wordlessly motions for Miller, Raven, and Bryan to wait as he creeps forward and looks down the hall in the direction that Briggs went.

“All clear.”

Miller and Bryan quickly catch up to him as he makes his way down to where Briggs was standing guard. 

“I don’t suppose you know the code,” Bellamy asks as he turns to them.

“That’s what I’m here for.”

Raven smiles as she moves past Miller and Bryan to where Bellamy is standing in front of the locked door. Just like the infirmary door she makes quick work of popping the lock, the door opening with a satisfying hiss.

“We’ll stand guard, but Briggs will be back in a matter of minutes.”

Bellamy nods, looking at Raven as she pops the lock back into place.

“I think I have an infirmary to go fix.”

Bellamy claps Raven on the shoulder and she gives a return nod before departing down the hallway.

“Alright, I’ll be quick.”

**. · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . ·**

The undeniable stench of blood is what hits Bellamy first. It sits heavy in the air demanding attention, so pungent that Bellamy swears he can taste the bitterness of it on his tongue.

They hadn’t put Murphy into the regular lock up, probably something to do with his safety and the safety of others. Whatever the council had to tell themselves. Instead, Jackson had directed them to a part of the Ark that had been used as storage since the crash to earth. 

Bellamy slips past boxes of munitions and wonders if the council had given this decision two seconds of thought or if they had just shoved Murphy into the first room that had a lock on its door.

The room is empty of any windows, the only light coming from the single flickering light bulb overhead. Besides the crates that line the shelves, the room is empty of much else besides dirt and dust. 

Bellamy can make out two sets of distinct footprints from guard issued boots, judging by their recognizable tread. Between the two sets of footprints are drag marks smeared with a red substance that Bellamy tries not to focus on too hard. He idly thinks this feels like one of those horror movies they used to play on the Ark.

Bellamy follows the tracks around the corner of the room to the small space tucked away in the back. He tries, and fails, to not flinch at the sight he finds.

Murphy lies slumped up against the wall in the corner of the room farthest from the entrance, body curled defensively. He doesn’t hear, or at least doesn’t acknowledge Bellamy’s presence but Bellamy can make out the small tremors that rack his body.

He is still wearing the same torn up pants that they found him in, a stark contrast to the somewhat clean medical gown that is serving as his shirt. Dried blood and dirt still cake the skin that is visible and mat up his overgrown hair. 

A breathless “Fuck” leaves Bellamy’s mouth before he can think better of it. 

The reaction is immediate. 

Murphy’s entire body contracts away from the threatening noise, muscles spasming at the sudden movement. Murphy shifts until he is facing the corner of the room, putting up a shaky hand in Bellamy’s general direction. 

“Please.”

His voice is even more wrecked than it was the last time Bellamy heard him, as if he had been screaming nonstop. 

The shelves start to rattle as Bellamy notices Murphy’s body trembling worse now. His breath starts coming in fast inhales and shaky exhales. 

Bellamy remembers when Octavia used to get like this when she was little and Bellamy had to force her under the floor when the guards came by. He recognizes the signs too well.

“Murphy…”

He keeps his voice soft and level, crouching down but keeping a fair distance from Murphy. Despite his efforts Murphy still tries to push himself further into the corner of the room, mumbling incoherently to himself. His breathing becomes shallower as he irritates his healing wounds, a small puddle of fresh blood pooling at his feet.

Bellamy takes a deep, steadying breath before scooting closer.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “but you have to breathe Murphy.”

He gently puts his hand on Murphy’s shoulder ignoring the flinch he gets in return, instead he slowly moves his hand down to Murphy’s neck. His pulse is thready, coming too fast, similar to his breathing. 

Bellamy shifts closer, trying to get Murphy to look at him.

“Murphy, you need to take some deep breaths for me. Try to match my breathing.”

Bellamy trails his hand to Murphy’s wrist, trying to get Murphy to focus on him.

“Get off!”

The next thing Bellamy knows he’s across the small room, his head throbbing.

“Damn,” Bellamy slurs, disorientated, “who knew you had that in you?”

Murphy uncurls from his defensive pose, shifting to look at Bellamy. His face is a mixture of shock and confusion as he mouths “Bellamy?”

Bellamy laughs despite himself. “What you only respond to snark now?”

Ignoring Bellamy’s question Murphy carefully scans the small space, shifting to sit fully against the wall. He glances sideways at Bellamy as he moves to sit against the wall as well.

“Where-” Murphy’s voice cracks, he takes in a wheezing breath before trying again.    
“Where am I?”

Bellamy pauses, thinking of how to answer that question. 

“A… storage unit?” He finally answers uneasily, glancing sideways to gauge Murphy’s reaction. 

Murphy snorts a little, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand.

“You don’t sound too sure of that, Blake.”

It hurts a little to hear Murphy call him that, he’d always been Bellamy, Bell when Murphy was being especially annoying. But never Blake.

It feels good to hear the sound of his voice though, the familiar sass that his words hold. There’s pain and weariness lacing those words too though, reminding Bellamy all too suddenly of the last three months. 

“Earth to Bellamy.”

Bellamy doesn’t know how someone’s voice can sound simultaneously weak and sassy at the same time. Leave it to Murphy to manage it, he supposes.

“Sorry, yeah I’m not sure exactly where we are right now. They kind of shoved you into… here…”

Murphy gives him an incredulous look, eyes scrunching as Bellamy fumbles over an explanation.

“They who?”

“The council. They moved you from the infirmary to here after you kinda attacked those guards, but don’t worry, we're working on getting you out of here. Clarke and Jackson are talking with Abby right now, Bryan and Miller are standing guard outside the door, and Jasper made a distraction with the others so I could-”

Bellamy trails off as he glances over at Murphy who is staring at the wall opposite of them, eyes glazed over.

“Murphy?” Bellamy ignores the worry etched into his own words, instead focusing on Murphy’s nervous expression.

It takes a couple of moments for Murphy to snap out of whatever trance he was in, eyes blinking rapidly as he glances around the room slowly.

“We’re on the Ark.”

It’s more of a statement than a question but Bellamy feels the need to reassure him anyway.

“Yeah, well we call it Arkadia now. The rest of the Ark followed us down a while back, not everybody survived the crash but those who did have made a home out of the wreckage. We found Farm station awhile back, we’re still looking for some of the other stations.”

“The council? The guard?”

“Unfortunately, they survived the crash.”

Bellamy shouldn’t be delighted when that elicits a genuine smile from Murphy, but he is. It’s good to see him smile again. 

Murphy takes a minute to process this information and Bellamy can practically see the wheels turning in his head. He doesn’t say anything for a while and Bellamy lets him think it over, using that time to rifle through some of the boxes that line the shelves around them.

He pulls a scraggly blanket out of one box and contemplates draping it over Murphy, quickly coming to the conclusion that he would not appreciate the kind gesture. Instead he balls it up and throws it over his shoulder, muffling his laugh when it hits Murphy square in the face.

Murphy glares at him, but tightly wraps the blanket around his still shivering form. He watches quietly as Bellamy moves onto another box, rolling his eyes as Bellamy cheers quietly when he pulls out silver packaging. 

Murphy’s body tenses of its own accord as he prepares for this new object to be tossed at him as well, but Bellamy has the decency of walking it back over to the corner where Murphy is sitting.

Even though he won’t admit it out loud, he is grateful when Bellamy slides down the wall a couple of feet away from him. He extends his arm out, holding out the all too familiar silver packaging.

When Murphy doesn’t immediately take the proffered package, instead curling the meager blanket tighter around himself, Bellamy gives him a scolding look and shakes the package at him.

“Thanks, but I think I’d rather starve than have to eat that.”

“Murphy…”

Sensing an impending righteous speech if he doesn’t take the package Murphy caves with a groaned “Fine.”

Bellamy watches Murphy struggle to open the package, bruised and bloody hands not finding purchase on the slick foil packaging. He contemplates offering his help starting to reach over right as Murphy brings the package up to his mouth, tearing it open with his teeth. 

He watches in silence as Murphy picks at the chalky food, nose wrinkling in disgust as he chews on a small piece.

“Are you doing alright? I mean, considering…” Bellamy lamely waves around the room, indicating the shitty situation at large. 

“It’s like being locked up in the Skybox all over again,” Murphy jokes with a crooked smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, “hot guards and crappy food.”

“You think I’m hot?” Bellamy huffs a laugh when Murphy rolls his eyes.

“Don’t get too full of yourself Blake,” Murphy halfheartedly scolds, “you’re the first person I’ve seen in a long time who hasn’t wanted to punch me.”

“Who says I don’t want to punch you? Maybe I do.”

Murphy sizes Bellamy up, eyes roving up and down his body in an assessing manner before meeting his eyes with a small smile.

“Nah,” he mumbles, picking at the rations, “you aren’t one to kick somebody who's already down.”

Before Bellamy has time to respond to that there are three sharp raps on the door that cause both of them to jump. Murphy eyes Bellamy hesitantly, asking without words if he should be worried about whoever that is.

“It’s just Miller,” Bellamy assures, moving to stand up.

“You say that like it should be reassuring,” Murphy half-jokes, body tensing as he tries to subtly look for something to use as a weapon.

“Murphy, hey.” Bellamy reaches out, putting a hand over Murphy’s own, smiling when he doesn’t try to back away from the contact.

“Miller still want to put a bullet in me?”

Bellamy can’t help but return Murphy’s self-deprecating smile, sliding his hand to Murphy’s shoulder to give it a small squeeze.

“No, he doesn’t. He’s actually been fighting for you.”

Murphy snorts incredulously. 

“That’s too bad…”

Three more short, sharp raps on the door echo through the room, Miller pokes his head in shortly after.

“Bellamy, we gotta go.”

Bellamy waves Miller off, hovering over Murphy unable to move from his spot next to him.

“You should go, before you get us both in trouble.”

“Yeah,” Bellamy agrees, not taking his hand off Murphy’s shoulder.

Murphy gives him a couple more moments of contact before he shrugs him off, hand instantly coming up to rub at his nose.

Bellamy nods, more to himself than to Murphy, as he moves to stand up. He doesn’t even make it five steps towards the door before he’s turning back around.

Murphy looks up at him, a familiar glint in his eye, one that Bellamy didn’t realize how much he missed until he saw it again. 

“We’re going to get you out of here Murphy.”

Murphy nods, a small genuine smile tugging at his lips.

“My hero,” he mutters, eyes on the floor.

When he looks back up the room is empty.

**. · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . ·**

Bellamy paces the length of the room, his feet moving of their own accord. He can feel the weight of everybody's eyes on him, tracking his anxious movements back and forth, but he can’t bring himself to look at them.

All he can see is Murphy.

Hanging from a tree pleading for his life, voice muffled behind a gag but one word, one name, heard clear as day.

Murphy.

Face bruised and bloody from Bellamy’s fist, eyes scared but cocky at the same time.

Murphy.

Eyes wet and face young, lying half dead under a tree begging for Bellamy to end it.

Murphy.

Curled up in the corner of a dark and dusty room, shaking hand trying to hold off his attackers.

Murph-

“amy. Bellamy.”

Bellamy looks up at the sound of Octavia’s voice, spotting her concerned face amidst several others. Glancing around Bellamy realizes that everybody is watching him anxiously. 

“Yeah, sorry.”

Bellamy shakes off the guilt that threatens to consume him, waving off Octavia’s concerned gaze as he moves to join the others in the center of Raven’s lab.

Before Bellamy has a chance to address the group the door at the front of the room slides open revealing a disgruntled Clarke trailed by an equally disgruntled yet also anxious Jackson.

“I’ll take it the meeting didn’t go well.”

Clarke half-heartedly glares at Bellamy but gives him a small nod as she moves to join the group that is loosely surrounding Raven’s work table.

“She won’t listen to me, but the council will.”

Bellamy notices multiple people exchanging glances at the tone of Clarke’s voice and the ambiguity of her words.

“What does that mean?” Lincoln asks, shifting uncomfortably at the hostility that Clarke radiates with.

Clarke shakes her head, taking a deep breath to calm down.

“Not that,” she says to Lincoln before addressing the group again, “We have been permitted to attend the council meeting that is to decide Murphy’s… sentencing.”

“Sentencing? What exactly is he being sentenced for?” 

“Well I mean, public indecency for one. I think he also like stole some rations when we first landed. And he vandalized the dropship too. Not to mention multiple accounts of attempted murder,” Jasper prattles off, counting off the offenses on his fingers.

“Jasper, so not the time dude,” Monty scolds under his breath, nudging Jasper to get him to shut up.

“No, Jasper has a point.”

Everybody shoots their gaze to Bellamy, faces full of shock at his words.

“The council is going to argue those exact offenses; they’re going to say all that and a whole lot worse. They’ll probably bring up whatever charges he had from the Ark too.”

“Do we even know what he did on the Ark?”

“Arson,” Jackson answers readily, “we treated him for first degree burns.”

“At least it’s not murder.”

Bellamy nods taking in this new information.

“Alright, now that we know what we’re up against we need to get ready for this thing.”

“Ready how, Bell?” 

Bellamy looks to Octavia, a small smile creeping onto his face.

“Remember those old books I used to read to you?”

Octavia nods slowly confusion evident on her face, “About ancient Rome…”

Octavia trails off as realization dawns on her, she turns to Bellamy with a matching smile on her face.

**. · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . ·**

“It’s called a trial,” Bellamy explains to the council, “it was a practice used in ancient Roman times. It involves a court, a jury of peers,” Bellamy motions to the gathered delinquents, “a prosecutor,” he motions to the council, “and a judge,” he motions to Abby.

“Most importantly it includes a  _ fair _ trial,” Octavia interjects, glaring at each council member individually. 

“Yes,” Abby sighs exasperated, “we all know what a trial is. There hasn’t been a trial since before we went up to space. We changed things for a reason. It’s just not how we do things on the… in Arkadia.”

“Well maybe it should be,” Lincoln responds, voice calm and even as he looks directly at Abby.

“And who are you to be telling us how to run a society?” 

“I would say they’ve been doing a pretty good job of it until we crashed into their home and destroyed it,” Octavia seethes out, glaring at the councilwoman.

“None of you should even be here. This is official council business.”

“Councilwoman Vasher that’s enough,” Kane scolds, starting to glare at the woman as well.

The whole room sits in tense silence as the two sides silently contemplate their next move.

“Alright,” Abby finally breaks the silence, “you can have your trial.”

Both sides start to erupt in noise, cheers from the teenagers and disgruntled arguing from the council members.

“Quiet down,” Abby commands waiting for the crowd to quiet before continuing, “as with any trial there are laws and rules that regulate them.”

Bellamy tenses waiting for the catch.

“A jury of peers is picked randomly from Arkadia’s population-”

Bellamy nods along to this.

“-and no one under eighteen is eligible for the jury.”

The gathered delinquents start to voice their protest as the councilwoman Vasher and councilman Leighton look on with smug smiles.

Bellamy pretends to be as discontent and surprised as the others, but he had been expecting something like this. 

“Fine,” he begrudgingly agrees, “if I get to be the defense’s attorney.”

Abby tries to hide her shock, but Bellamy can see the surprise on her face. She mumbles something under her breath to Kane, only after he nods does she address the group again.

“You may be Mr. Murphy’s attorney.”

Bellamy bites the inside of his cheek to hide the radiant smile that wants to break out on his face. He nods instead, pushing out his chair to leave.

“Where are you going?” 

Bellamy doesn’t bother stopping on his way out of the council room, he just glances over his shoulder to address Abby.

“I believe I have a client to meet with.”

**. · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . ·**

Bellamy can’t help but feel smug as Briggs types in the keycode to the locked door and glares as Bellamy pushes past him to enter.

The door slides shut behind Bellamy, the latch quietly shifting into place, locking him in.

Bellamy glances down to see that the treadmarks and bloodstains have all but vanished, a shiny metal floor now beaming up at him.

Gone is the stale stench of blood, replaced by the almost more invasive smell of over sterilization. 

Bellamy rounds the tight corner of the small room to see that they have crammed a cot into the far corner of the room, Murphy sprawled out on top of it like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

“I see you got an upgrade.”

Murphy doesn’t open his eyes to address him but Bellamy doesn’t miss the way the corner of his mouth twitches into a barely there smile.

“Rags to riches, hafta keep up the damsel in distress act. Milk it for all it's got.”

Bellamy notices the way Murphy still slurs some of his words, his voice thick with drugs, pain, and exhaustion. However, he loses his thoughts when Murphy cracks open one eye and gives him a toothy grin.

Bellamy returns the grin, leaning up against the shelves opposite of Murphy and nodding his chin at him.

“Not quite out of those rags yet are we?”

Murphy peers down at his own body, still dressed in soiled cargo pants, craning his neck and then dropping his head back onto the pillow with an exaggerated sigh.

“They didn’t want to get too close to me,” Murphy explains with a laugh, “I’m feral, remember?”

Bellamy hums in agreement as he walks the short distance to the end of Murphy’s cot. He shoves Murphy's legs aside, ignoring the indignant sound Murphy makes at the gesture, as Bellamy makes room to sit.

“Want some help with that?”

At Murphy's questioning gaze Bellamy clarifies with a smile and utters, “Rags.”

Murphy’s lip curve into a smirk as he props his legs onto Bellamy’s lap, eyeing him up and down.

“So forward Blake.”

His words cut like knives but there is a spark of interest under all the false bravado, Bellamy decides to ignore it… at least for the time being. There are more important things to worry about.

“I was thinking more of a shower, Murph,” Bellamy scolds softly, standing up and letting Murphy’s legs fall back onto the cot with a dull thud.

Murphy’s smile falters on his face before twisting into one of confusion and irritation. Murphy glares half-heartedly at Bellamy before rolling over in the cot, effectively closing out Bellamy.

“Yeah, like the council is all of a sudden going to let the animal out of its cage. Don’t think so,” Murphy mumbles to the wall.

Bellamy opens his mouth to reassure Murphy, heartfelt speech on the tip of his tongue. He lets his mouth close with an audible snap as the first word dies in his mouth, suddenly rethinking that tactic he pivots into a new mindset. 

In one fell swoop Bellamy rips the measly sheet off Murphy and lets it gracelessly fall in a heap on the cold, metal floor. Bellamy feels triumphant when Murphy whips around to gawk at him, eyes shooting from the sheet to Bellamy and back again.

“I’m serious Murphy, lets go. You smell like something died.”

Before Murphy has time to react Bellamy is gently manhandling him into a standing position, letting Murphy lean his damaged, trembling body against him.

“I haven’t showered in a while… I can’t promise I’ll remember how to do it,” Murphy jokes weakly letting Bellamy slowly lead him to the door.

“That’s alright, I can help you remember. Besides, we have to get you looking pretty for your trial.”

Murphy stops in his tracks, confused eyes finding Bellamy’s amused ones. 

“For my what now?”

**. · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . ·**

Several minutes pass with no sound from inside the shower stall and Bellamy resists the urge to ask Murphy if he’s doing alright in there. Bellamy waits to hear the sound of water but it never comes. 

He slowly inches closer to the outside of the stall and strains to hear what Murphy is doing on the other side, he nearly jumps backwards as Murphy’s voice carries out.

“Blake?” 

Murphy’s voice is frustrated and his breathing seems labored even though Bellamy hadn’t heard anything that should have caused him strain on his body.

“Yeah, Murph.” 

Bellamy takes a few steps back in time for Murphy to open the stall door a crack and poke his head out.

Murphy is flushed, although Bellamy can’t tell if that’s from embarrassment at being almost naked in Bellamy’s presence or from the amount of pain he is in. 

“I… I can’t bend over to get the bandages, and I can’t reach up either without it pulling on my stitches.” 

Murphy rubs at his nose with the back of his hand, refusing to look Bellamy in the eye.

“Are you asking for help,” Bellamy teasingly asks, delighting in the way Murphy’s face goes ever so slightly pink at his question.

“Forget it,” Murphy mumbles as he goes to close the door to the stall.

“Hey, hey, Murphy! Wait,” Bellamy exclaims as he moves forward, cramming his booted foot in the doorway effectively stopping Murphy in his attempt to shut the door.

“C’mon Murphy, I was kidding, okay? Look, I’m sorry. Let me help you. Promise I’ll shut up.”

Bellamy ducks his head in order to make eye contact with Murphy trying to show his sincerity, he finally relents with a huff allowing Bellamy to open the stall door enough to slip in with him. 

Bellamy comes face-to-face with Murphy as he steps into the somewhat small shower and he can’t help but let his eyes wander down his pale body.

Bandages cover most of his torso, arms, and legs medical tape securing the bright white wrap that covers his body. Murphy’s bruises have faded to ugly yellows and greens, mottling his skin in distinctive patterns. 

Bellamy subconsciously starts to reach his hand out to touch one that looks like a boot imprint.

“My eyes are up here, Blake.”

Bellamy’s eyes snap up to meet Murphy’s unimpressed and vaguely embarrassed expression. Bellamy lets out an awkward cough, dropping eye contact and shuffling back a little until his back hits the wall.

“Okay, so how do you want to do this? Should I- well I could,” Bellamy stutters out as he motions to Murphy’s body, making a point of not touching him.

“The bandages, Bell, just take off the bandages.” Murphy’s voice is curt but Bellamy doesn’t miss the way he unintentionally uses his nickname.

“Okay,” Bellamy mutters, more to himself than Murphy, steadying himself before reaching out for the first bandage.

Bellamy starts with the bandage wrapped around his neck, suppressing the shake in his hands as he unravels the medical wrap revealing the damaged skin beneath. Unlike the rest of the bruises that liter Murphy’s body the ones on his neck are still a dark purple, multiple deep lacerations circling his neck. Dropping the bandage on the floor of the shower stall Bellamy reaches out to trace the patterns on Murphy’s neck, fingers gently dancing around following the circling pattern. 

“How do these still look so fresh?”

Bellamy doesn’t realize he has voiced this question out loud until Murphy looks up at him, gently removing Bellamy’s hand from his neck.

“These aren’t the ones you gave me.”

Bellamy’s eyes finally leave Murphy’s neck as he looks at him with confusion but before he can ask what he means by that Murphy is answering his unspoken question.

“I guess the grounders thought I had a choking kink or something ‘cause they sure liked to wrap shit around my neck and watch me squirm... but maybe that means they are the ones who have a choking kink.” His voice comes off nonchalant like he couldn’t care less about the torture he had endured but his eyes have gone distant as he stares at the wall behind Bellamy, face flushed in shame.

Bellamy opens his mouth an apology on the tip of his tongue but Murphy yet again cuts him off before he can get any words out.

“Can we just finish this?” Murphy impatiently motions to the numerous other bandages that still cover his skin, shifting on his feet as he still refuses to make eye contact.

Bellamy nods making quick work of stripping the remaining bandages from Murphy’s arms and then kneeling down to get his legs and ankle, avoiding looking at the healing wounds underneath. Murphy’s whole body shakes involuntarily as each bandage is stripped away, his body flush and covered in goosebumps. Once he’s done, he lets his left hand hover over Murphy’s still bandaged abdomen, waiting until Murphy looks down at him to speak.

“This is the worst of them,” Bellamy warns, still unwilling to remove the bandage.

“Yeah,” Murphy snarks, “tell me about it.” 

After Bellamy still doesn’t move to undo the bandage Murphy huffs, “Fine, I’ll just do it.”

Bellamy loosely grabs Murphy’s wrist with his left hand stopping him from touching his own bandage.

“I just don’t want to hurt you… any more than I already have.” Bellamy holds Murphy’s chin lightly with his right hand as he makes sincere eye contact with him, still not letting go of his loose hold on Murphy’s wrist with his other hand.

“Please,” Bellamy whispers fervently as he stares up into icy blue eyes, “just let me do this for you. Let me help.”

“Don’t make this weird, Blake,” Murphy’s voice comes out weak, absent of its usual bite as he watches Bellamy begin to take off his bandage.

Bellamy exhales sharply as he takes in the sight of the rough stitches that hold Murphy’s mangled abdomen together. There are over a dozen stitches holding together the seven-inch cut, a striking contrast to the smooth skin that surrounds the wound. 

“I don’t remember it being so long,” Bellamy whispers, his breath causing Murphy’s stomach hair to stand on end as he shifts away from Bellamy.

“Yeah, Abby said they had to cut it open more to retrieve the spear tip.”

Bellamy notices that Murphy tries to come off as nonchalant again and decides not to address it, instead getting up off the stall floor.

“Turn around so I can get your back.”

Murphy complies readily anxious to get this over with, his whole body shaking from the anxiety and pain. Bellamy wastes no time on his back, trying to be as gentle as possible as he strips away the final bandages that cover Murphy’s body. After the last bandage falls away Bellamy reaches down and curls his fingers around the hem of Murphy’s underwear, Murphy’s hand shooting behind his back and death gripping Bellamy’s wrist.

“What the hell are you doing, Blake?”

“Jackson mentioned that you have burns under there which means you have bandages under there and you asked me in here to help you take off your bandages,” Bellamy reasons but when Murphy doesn’t relent his grip on his wrist Bellamy gives in and removes his fingers from the hem of his underwear.

Bellamy stoops down to pick up the bandages off the stall floor taking them with him as he exits and throwing them in the nearby garbage bin before kicking off his combat boots. He proceeds to shrug off his guard’s jacket and lay it over the bench, sitting down to take off his socks next. It’s not until he is hopping out of his black cargo pants that Murphy pokes his head out of the stall, curiosity getting the better of him.

“What the hell are you doing now, Bell?”

Bellamy smiles at the nickname as he rids himself of his t-shirt, folding it sloppily before placing it next to his jacket and pants on the bench.

“Well you needed help with the bandages so I figured you would probably need help with bathing too.”

Murphy instantly opens his mouth to argue but the words die in his throat as he contemplates Bellamy’s words.

“Unless you think you can actually reach your hair and work out all those gross mats without splitting open your stitches... or harming your fingers,” Bellamy teases as he slips off his boxers and adds it to his pile of clothes.

Murphy glances down at Bellamy’s stark-naked figure before quickly ducking back into the shower stall.

“Why the fuck did you take off your underwear?”

“Well unlike you I do not have reservations about my nudity and besides I’m not getting my boxers soaked just because you’re a blushing virgin,” Bellamy states as he slips into the shower behind Murphy, who refuses to turn away from the wall giving Bellamy his back.

“I am not a blushing virgin,” Murphy vehemently states, full body blushing as he continues to resolutely stare at the wall.

“That’s exactly what a virgin would say,” Bellamy teases as he turns on the water, adjusting it until it’s a comfortable temperature.

“C’mon Murph, the shower is for you, get your blushing ass over here.”

Murphy continues to stare at the wall, even going as far as inching farther from Bellamy and the spray of water.

“If I feel your dick against my ass, I will not hesitate to elbow you in the stomach,” Murphy informs him, making no move to come any closer.

Bellamy chuckles at that but it only serves to make Murphy inch farther away.

“Repeatedly,” he adds, voice and body wavering.

“Alright, alright I get it. Now get over here would ya?”

Finally Murphy backs up, Bellamy guiding him by the shoulders as he still refuses to turn around. Bellamy jumps a little when Murphy hisses as the water makes contact with his back.

“Too hot,” Bellamy asks, already reaching behind himself to adjust the water temperature.

“No, no, it’s not that,” Murphy reassures him, trying to relax into the spray of water, “jus stings is all.”

Bellamy nods not that Murphy can see, coming up behind him again to stand under the spray.

“I’m going to start with your hair okay?”

Murphy nods, hands fidgeting at his sides as he prepares himself.

“Lavender fields or coconut bliss,” Bellamy questions, reading the shampoo bottles out loud.

“Seriously,” Murphy questions indignantly, craning his neck to see the bottles himself, “did only the girl soaps make it down?”

“The coconut one actually smells pretty good,” Bellamy says as he pops open the lid and takes a sniff.

“I’ll take your word for it,” Murphy snarks when Bellamy holds it out for him to smell.

“Coconut it is,” Bellamy exclaims entirely too cheery for the situation at hand.

Bellamy squeezes out a good amount of the coconut bliss shampoo into his hand, gently working it into Murphy’s matted hair. He spends the next several minutes finger combing the plethora of bloody mats out of Murphy’s hair, glancing down every now again to watch the bloody soap swirl around before disappearing down the drain. Bellamy secretly adores the little gasps and groans that Murphy is unaware he is making, eyes closed as he leans into Bellamy’s hands. After three washes with shampoo and one round of conditioner Murphy’s hair is clean and mat-free. Bellamy runs his fingers through Murphy’s hair a couple more times after that to make sure all the mats are out or so he tells himself when truly he is delighting in how soft Murphy’s locks are.

“How are you so good at this,” Murphy mumbles tiredly, his body sagging in relief for the first time since they found him in the woods.

“I used to wash O’s hair all the time, perk of having a sister I guess.”

Murphy hums his agreement pushing back into Bellamy’s hand until he continues his stroking motions.

“Your hair is clean,” Bellamy informs him after several long moments of stroking Murphy’s head.

Murphy almost jumps forward at his words, snapping back into reality, the tension creeping back into his muscles. 

“Thanks,” Murphy mutters uncomfortably, shifting his body away from Bellamy yet again.

“I’ll get the soap,” Bellamy states somewhat awkwardly, trying to process what had just occurred in the last couple of minutes.

“Do I get a choice in that regard as well,” Murphy snarks, sarcasm back in full force.

Bellamy deflates a little as he reminds himself that there is no reason Murphy should trust him let alone like him, that helping Murphy take a shower wasn’t going to magically solve all the problems between them. But it hurt to see a glimpse of the old Murphy, the one who would relax in Bellamy’s presence instead of tense up as if awaiting some form of pain to be inflicted upon him at any moment.

“Uh, no,” Bellamy responds as he grabs the soap from the shelve and returns to his place behind Murphy, “Jackson said that you have to use the sterile soap due to all your wounds.”

Murphy huffs but nods his head, his back muscles rippling as he tenses in preparation.

“Hey,” Bellamy says as he notices the tension that has crept back into Murphy’s whole body, “if this is too much we can stop.”

Murphy glances over his shoulder at Bellamy confused at the sincerity he finds in his eyes.

“You’re the one who said I needed a shower because I smell like a dead thing,” Murphy reminds him with a smirk.

Bellamy takes this as his go ahead and starts to gently lather the soap into Murphy’s back. 

Working around the pesky fabric of Murphy’s boxers Bellamy makes quick work of washing Murphy’s body from head to toe, deciding after a moment's consideration to do a second wash due to the amount of dirt and dried on blood that still resides on Murphy’s skin.

“You know,” Bellamy says when he is done washing the second round of soap off, “all the soap collected in the hemline of your boxers.”

Murphy glances down and sure enough finds a collection of soap along the top of his boxers.

“It really is unhygienic to not wash all of your body,” Bellamy tries when Murphy doesn’t say anything.

Murphy goes bright red at the tips of his ears, refusing to turn and look at Bellamy.

“Fine, just don’t make a big deal out of it,” Murphy’s voice is flat causing Bellamy to lose his smile as he gently reaches for the underwear, pausing as he gets his index finger hooked in the hem.

“Don’t be a tease,” Murphy states but it’s still off, missing the usual snarky attitude instead sounding emotionless.

After another moment Bellamy gently pulls down Murphy’s boxers letting them fall to the floor. Before Bellamy can reach for the soap he takes in the wounds in front of him. 

Instead of the bandages he had been expecting to find Bellamy is met with the sight of multiple lacerations that crisscross Murphy’s ass. There also appear to be a couple burn marks at the base of his spine and further down there is... 

“Oh my god,” Bellamy gasps, unable to hold in his shock, “Murphy, I, you have… I had no idea. I am so sor-”

“Don’t,” Murphy cuts him off, voice wobbling yet venomous with emotion, “don’t you dare apologize for this. Not this.”

Bellamy stares dumbfoundedly at Murphy's backside arms hanging uselessly at his sides, afraid to talk or touch. 

Silence hangs heavily in the air between them for several prolonged minutes, Murphy shakes in front of him but no noise is made from either boy. Eventually the silence gets to be too much for Bellamy and he is the first to break it.

“I shouldn’t have banished you, this is my fault, and I-”   
  


“Stop, just  _ stop _ !”

Murphy pushes the stall door open and dashes out before Bellamy can say or do anything else. 

Bellamy turns off the water and follows him, finding him struggling to wrap a towel around his wet form. Bellamy walks over to help him but Murphy backs away before he can get close, almost falling over the bench in the process.

“I shouldn’t have- it was stupid to let you see it, I knew you wouldn’t understand.”

“Understand? Murphy I understand, what they did to you wasn’t your fault, I shouldn’t have-”

“God, would you stop blaming yourself! I mean, Jesus, you are so conceited do you know that?” Murphy’s eyes have gone wild, staring at Bellamy. “Not everything is about you, Blake.”

Bellamy shakes his head numbly, doing his best not to speak letting Murphy say whatever he needs to.

“I held out,” Murphy chokes out, struggling to get in air, “I held out through the knives and the whips and the spears and the hot irons and, and ropes around my neck. I held out when they took my fingernails one by one. I held out when they broke my ribs. I held out when they drowned me over and over. I, I held out. You have to understand,  _ I _ . _ Held _ . _ Out _ .”

Murphy is hyperventilating at this point, face covered in tears, and wild eyes pleading with Bellamy to understand. Bellamy longs to embrace Murphy, to rush to his side and hold him and tell him everything will be okay but that’s not what Murphy needs right now. What Murphy needs is for Bellamy to understand, so Bellamy stays where he is and tries to do just that.

“Okay, Murph, you held out.”

Murphy nods eagerly although the tears continue to fall and his breathing remains erratic.

“I did, Bell, I really did. I held out through all of that. But I couldn’t,” Murphy’s breathe hitches as he reaches up to wipe his nose, “I couldn’t. Not when, not when they did  _ that _ . I couldn’t. I tried, you have to understand that I tried.”

“I understand,” Bellamy whispers, his own breath catching as hot tears begin to trickle down his face.

“No, no you don’t Bellamy,” Murphy whines, eyes blurred with tears. “I told them everything. I told them  _ everything _ . I told them-”

Bellamy rushes forward as Murphy’s legs give out from under him and Bellamy gently crumples to the floor with him. Bellamy pulls Murphy into his lap, arms encircling him as he continues to sob into Bellamy’s chest.

“It’s my fault Mbege is dead. It’s my fault they’re all dead.”

Bellamy shushes Murphy, gently rocking them as he rubs soothing circles onto the uninjured portion of Murphy’s back. Eventually Murphy’s breathing evens out and his sobs cease as his body relaxes in Bellamy’s embrace.

Reaching down he gently brushes the hair off Murphy’s face, thumb lingering on the soft skin of Murphy’s cheek. Pondering the extent of trauma the boy in his arms has endured Bellamy watches the light dance across his pale skin.

Looking up to the lone window in the room Bellamy watches the sun rise as Murphy sleeps soundlessly in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading this.  
All comments, questions, and constructive criticism welcome!


	3. String Me Up

If Bellamy thought there was tension in the camp before, it’s nothing compared to what’s here now.

With news of the trial spreading like wildfire through the camp and preparations underway the raw emotions that pulse through Arkadia are suffocating. 

Bellamy feels like he’s fighting a new battle every day, preparing for an upcoming war. It’s been nearly a week since Abby greenlighted the trial and the days fly by like hours. 

Bellamy was able to move Murphy out of the storage closet, only with the threat of telling the camp where Murphy had been stuck. Even then the council only agreed when Bellamy consented to keeping Murphy in his quarters so that he could be watched at all times. If Bellamy wasn’t with Murphy the council had commanded that a guard be posted at Bellamy’s door. 

That had proved troublesome when Bellamy realized how violent Murphy’s dreams were.

Murphy couldn’t seem to fall asleep without being able to feel Bellamy, which resulted in tangled limbs as they tried to cram both of their bodies onto Bellamy’s single bed. Bellamy didn’t mind the close proximity… until the nightmares started.

The noises would always come first, little whines and whimpers that slowly increased in volume. Bellamy would hold him close as the thrashing started, murmuring that he was safe. It took Murphy a while to wake up, a couple of minutes to realize where he was, and more often than not hours for the shaking to subside. Bellamy always held him through it all.

Murphy had also started to go stir crazy after the first twenty-four hours, endlessly pacing the small space and staring longingly out Bellamy’s single window. It took Bellamy badgering Kane for two hours to get him to permit Murphy to be allowed outside. 

That was how he had spent the past week, fighting the council tooth and nail to get Murphy even the smallest freedoms.

Bellamy felt victorious after each battle, yet he knew the war was just about to begin.

He expected a quick trial, he knew the council had already made up its mind about Murphy but if he could sway public opinion in Murphy’s favor then the council would have to release him.

**. · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . ·**

Bellamy spots Octavia across the field, sitting on the ground by herself. She has her sword laid out across her lap, methodically sharpening it and inspecting her work.

Bellamy walks over and leans up against the wall behind her, knocking his boot into her knee to gain her attention. She waves him off impatiently as she concentrates on her work, expression pinched as she glares down at a particular chink in her otherwise perfectly sharpened blade. 

“Where’s Lincoln?”

Octavia huffs as she sets down her work, gesturing across the field to where Lincoln is talking with Clarke and some of the other delinquents. 

“They’re prepping for the trial,” Octavia explains, “going over how exactly to word things to best help us.”

Bellamy nods, thoughts drifting as he gazes at the gathered people.

“You know that this is all just a big hoax, right?” 

Bellamy’s head snaps down to look at Octavia, an unfazed expression on her face.

“The trial?” Bellamy questions, already knowing the answer.

“Abby only said okay because she knows it’s a joke. After all the council, the chancellor, holds all the power. Even if the jury finds Murphy innocent, or thinks that he’s done enough penance for his crimes, overall it’s Abby’s call. And she already made up her mind about him.”

Bellamy can’t argue with Octavia, because she’s only voicing Bellamy’s concerns out loud. Bellamy has had these same thoughts swirling around in his brain since the trial was set into motion, but hearing them said aloud is somehow worse.

“I know,” Bellamy says, “that’s our secret weapon.”

Octavia quirks her brow, silently urging Bellamy to continue.

“Look, the council knows that this a hoax and we know that this is a hoax, but the rest of the camp doesn’t. The ground was supposed to be different, right? We all get a say in what happens down here. There might still be a chancellor, but it’s not the same. People want a say in what happens to one of our own, people want this trial.”

“So we use that,” Octavia says, slowly catching on.

“Exactly,” Bellamy smiles, “if the jury finds him not guilty and we get enough of the public sympathetic to him then the council can’t throw him out.”

“Or they risk an insurrection.” 

Octavia matches Bellamy’s smile, shaking her head.

“That’s actually not half bad,” Octavia compliments dryly, picking up her sword again.

Bellamy lets his thoughts drift again as the rhythmic sound of Octavia sharpening her blade drowns out the rest of the noise around them.

He thinks back to the knife that started this all. JM etched crudely into the handle.

He remembers watching Murphy sharpen it as they sat around the campfire at night, cutting up his pale hands as he unsuccessfully tried to shape the twisted piece of metal. 

Murphy had been so proud when he had finally gotten it sharp enough to cut through the rope they were using to build the wall, the same rope that would string him up days later.

There was a glint in his eyes as he borrowed Mbege’s knife to carve his initials into it, happy to have something that he could call his.

There was frustration in him when he couldn’t get the knife to throw properly, oddly curved metal missing its target again and again. So delighted when the jagged metal finally hit the tree and stuck that he left it there as a memento to his success.

He was annoyed when it went missing from the tree, but in a camp full of thieves what did he expect?

He had been so proud of that little piece of metal, never knowing that it would be his downfall.

“How is he?”

Octavia’s voice pulls him from his thoughts, glancing down he sees genuine concern in her eyes.

“He’s Murphy.”

Octavia nods as if that’s the only answer she needs. Bellamy supposes it’s the only answer anyone could expect from a situation like this.

“It’s kind of nice you know,” Octavia murmurs, staring at Lincoln across the camp, “despite everything we’ve been through down here some things just don’t change. There’s a certain kind of comfort in that.”

Bellamy smiles down at his sister, gently nudging her shoulder with his knee.

“When did you get so wise?”

“Shut up,” Octavia smiles, “I’ve always been wiser than you.”

Bellamy huffs a laugh.

“Yeah, it is nice.”

Bellamy watches as Lincoln crosses the field to join them.

He kisses Octavia’s forehead in greeting and then turns his concerned, caring eyes to Bellamy, sensing his anxiety he sets his hand on Bellamy’s shoulder.

“Your friend has been through enough,” Lincoln says earnestly, “we will get peace for him.”

Bellamy nods, not quite believing Lincoln’s words but appreciating them all the same. 

“Speaking of which I should probably go wake him up, get him something to eat.”

Octavia reaches for Bellamy’s hand, squeezing it tight.

“See you at the trial. We’ve got this, big brother.”

**. · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . ·**

“It’s itchy,” Murphy complains, attempting to twist out of Bellamy’s hold.

Bellamy stops him before he makes it far, shoving the shirt over his head and wrestling to get his arms into the sleeves.

“Yeah, well it looks better than that beat-to-hell jacket you insist on wearing all the time.”

“Hey,” Murphy protests, wiggling away from Bellamy, “that’s my favorite jacket you’re talking about.”

Bellamy glares at the jacket that lays forgotten in the corner of the room as he continues to wrestle Murphy into the sweater.

“It makes you look like a delinquent,” Bellamy informs him, pursuing Murphy as he blindly backs away.

“I _ am _a delinquent,” Murphy argues, shirt still over his face he falls over onto the bed.

“Murph,” Bellamy exhales, exhaustion heavy in his voice, “the whole point of this stupid trial is for them to find you not guilty. Part of what they’re going to be judging you on is your appearance. If you look like you just crawled out of a garbage can they’re going to think less of you.”

Bellamy stands over Murphy’s prone form, hoping they didn’t stretch out the fabric of the sweater too much with all their wrestling. Bellamy thinks the sweater resembles more of a fur monster trying to suffocate Murphy at this point. 

Most of Murphy’s torso is tangled up in the depths of the sweater. His head is lost somewhere in the left sleeve and one of his arms is poking out of the collar of it.

“I don’t know when everyone suddenly became fashion experts,” Murphy grumbles, finally slipping into the gray sweater despite his protests.

_ Don’t kill him before his trial. Don’t kill him before his trial. _ Bellamy chants in his head, pinching his nose as Murphy continues to fuss with the sweater. 

Murphy extends his hand once he has the sweater on properly, wordlessly asking for Bellamy to help him up and off the bed. 

Bellamy pulls Murphy up and into himself, holding him still as he flattens out the wrinkles in Murphy’s shirt.

“I didn’t know personal stylist was part of the job description,” Murphy murmurs, looking down at his chest as he watches Bellamy’s meticulous handiwork.

“Shut up, Murphy.”

Bellamy pushes him towards the mirror when he is satisfied with the shirt, coming up behind him to assess his work.

He looks him over from top to bottom, mouth quirking as his gaze reaches the mess on top of Murphy’s head. He reaches his hand out to smooth Murphy’s unruly locks, only to be batted away by Murphy before he can reach them.

“I wouldn’t have to fix your hair if you had just put on the sweater the first time I asked,” Bellamy scolds gently, pushing Murphy’s hand aside so he can run his fingers through Murphy’s hair.

Murphy relaxes into the touch, still glaring at Bellamy.

“You gonna doll me up too?” 

Bellamy flicks him in the ear, catching his faint smile in the reflection of the mirror.

“I think a nice ruby red would really bring out your eyes,” Bellamy retorts, delighting in Murphy’s aghast face.

Bellamy removes his hands from Murphy’s hair, stepping back he nods to himself. 

“Alright, you ready?”

“I don’t know Mr. Defense Lawyer, am I?”

Bellamy opens the door motioning for Murphy to exit, following behind him.

“As ready as we’ll ever be.”

**. · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . ·**

The makeshift courtroom is buzzing with people by the time they arrive. Bellamy figures almost all of Arkadia is present, more people filing in as Bellamy and Murphy take their place at the front of the room.

Rows of chairs are lined in the back of the room for the citizens of Arkadia to observe the proceedings. Bellamy sits with Murphy in front of the public seating to the left, with the prosecution’s table set up across the aisle from them. In front of them, sat in the center of the room is the judge’s chair on a slightly elevated platform. A small chair next to the judge will act as the witness chair and the jury resides to the right of the prosecution. 

The council and Abby have yet to arrive, but Bellamy spots some of the jurors already seated off to the side. 

He feels the anxiety and uncertainty that fills the room, watches Murphy bristle as people openly stare at him.

Bellamy leans over in his chair to whisper to Murphy, putting his hand on Murphy’s knee.

“Hey, don’t let them get to you. Once they hear your side of things there’s no way they’ll find you guilty.” 

Murphy nods numbly, eyes distant. 

Bellamy feels a hand on his shoulder, turning he sees Clarke standing behind him surrounded by the other delinquents. Bellamy stands up walking a short distance away from Murphy, joining the group of gathered delinquents.

“How is he doing?” Clarke asks, peeking over Bellamy’s shoulder to where Murphy has laid his head down on his crossed arms.

Bellamy follows Clarke’s gaze, wan smile as he answers, “He’s as good as anyone could expect him to be.”

“Who are you going to be calling on,” Harper questions, “as, you know, witnesses?”

Bellamy looks at the gathered delinquents, the faces eager to help in any way.

“For now, just Clarke and Jackson. Clarke will speak to Murphy’s banishment and Jackson can explain the extent of the torture. It’s not a lot, but if all goes according to plan this _ will _ work.” _ This has to work. _

Everyone ignores the unspoken words, focusing on the positive thoughts.

“And if it doesn’t,” Octavia says, always the devil’s advocate. 

“We’ll burn that bridge when we get to it.”

**. · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . ·**

“Prosecution, you may make your opening statements,” Abby commands from the front of the room, gaining everyone’s attention and silence.

Councilman Leighton stands up stiffly, dusting nonexistent dust off his suit as he strides over to stand in front of the jury.

“People of Arkadia, you see before you a man who has committed several felonies. His parents committed felonies and he happily followed in their footsteps-”

Murphy snaps his head up at the mention of his parents, half rising from his chair before Bellamy’s firm grip on his forearm forces him back into his seat.

“-this is a man who not only terrorized the people of the Ark with his heinous crimes but continued to do so on the ground until his action resulted in the death of a little girl.”

Leighton pauses as he lets the people soak in this piece of information, face smug as gasps are heard in the crowd.

“Now the defense is going to argue that he has repented, that he regrets his crimes-”

Leighton pauses again as he meets Murphy’s eyes, shaking his head sadly as if he gives a shit.

“-but he has had his chance to repent and yet he stays the same. We can’t risk that he will return to his old ways. Who else has to die before we decide enough is enough?”

Leighton nods sincerely to the jury, circling the table to sit down as he finishes. Abby nods firmly and Bellamy can practically hear her agreement as if she shouted it.

“Defense,” Abby addresses him, “your opening statements?”

Bellamy gives Murphy’s hand a small squeeze, fingers lingering as he stands up. He walks across the room to stand in front of the jury, body angled between them and the rest of the citizens sitting in the rows. 

“Murphy set fire to the guard’s quarters when he was thirteen and was locked up until he was seventeen when he was sent down to the ground in a dropship. Murphy and every other minor who was sentenced to be test subjects have more than atoned for their past crimes, as stated by the council when they initially sent one hundred unsupervised minors down here in the first place.

What we are here to discuss are the alleged crimes he committed once on the ground. He was hung for a crime he did not commit and then sought justice from the actual culprit, which resulted in a tragic suicide. Her name was Charlotte and as the prosecution so kindly put it, she was a _ little girl _ , twelve years old. A twelve-year-old who the council decided to send down here, for retribution of past crimes, same as Murphy. A twelve-year-old _ little _girl who couldn’t live with the fact that she herself had killed someone. He paid for his role in that with his banishment, and the unfortunate, subsequent torture that he endured. We are not here to determine the guilt of John Murphy but to decide whether or not we should continue this cycle of trauma. I for one, think it’s time that we end the trauma and begin to heal.”

Bellamy sees a few wet eyes in the audience as he walks back to his seat, feeling the pressure lift off him fractionally. Murphy’s eyes are dead set on the table, body strung tight with tension. Bellamy reaches for his hand under the table, rubbing soothing circles onto Murphy’s knuckles with his thumb.

“Would the prosecution please call its first witness?” 

Leighton turns a smug grin to Bellamy as he announces, “Nathan Miller to the stand.”

“Objection,” Bellamy calls once he’s processed, standing up from the chair so quickly he nearly knocks it over. 

“Under what grounds?”

Bellamy sputters at Abby’s question, glancing from Miller’s shocked face to Leighton’s pretentious one before looking back to Abby.

“I- Under…”

“Mr. Blake if there is no objection,” Abby asks, irritation evident in her voice.

Bellamy nods his head slowly, sitting back in his chair.

“Do I… have to?” 

Bellamy turns to see a cautious Miller, his eyes lock with Bellamy asking for direction.

“Yes Mr. Miller,” Abby orders, “please come to the front.”

Miller doesn’t move from his seat, expectant eyes on Bellamy.

“It’s alright,” Bellamy assures, nodding his head towards the witness stand.

Miller begrudgingly makes his way to the front of the room, sitting heavily in the chair positioned next to Abby’s.

“Mr. Miller, how are you?”

Miller stares blankly at Leighton, hard eyes staring him down radiating with resentment.

“Alright,” Leighton proceeds unfazed, “you were one of the people who found Mr. Murphy in the woods, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

Leighton nods, rearranging the notes on his desk as Miller grits his teeth.

“And you were there during his initial banishment?”

“No…”

Leighton looks up from his papers, humming inquisitively. 

“But you saw the aftermath of the torture Mr. Murphy was subjected to under the hands of the grounders?”

“Yes.”

Bellamy watches Leighton closely, waiting for him to make his point.

“And yet you still wanted to… _ put a bullet in him_, is that right?”

The room bursts into hushed murmurs from all over, Leighton glances sideways at Bellamy as he props himself against the front of his table.

“What- no, I…” Miller fumbles for an answer, shaking his head rapidly.

“So you didn’t express a desire to kill or abandon Mr. Murphy when you found him in the woods?”

“No, I mean well, yes I did. But I don’t-”

“And why would that be? Why would your first thought upon seeing a tortured man to be to kill him or leave him to die?” Leighton presses on, using Miller’s flustered state to his advantage.

“Perhaps you were thinking of Charlotte, thinking about the life that was taken due to that man right there.”

Leighton looks over to Murphy, shaking his head in sad disapproval.

“Objection,” Bellamy states, calmly rising from his seat, “he’s badgering the witness.”

Abby sighs heavily as she looks between Bellamy and Leighton.

“Do you have a question for the witness?”

Leighton smiles as he slowly sits back in his seat.

“No, I think that’s all the answer we need.”

Bellamy narrows his eyes as he rounds the table, approaching the witness stand.

“Cross-examine,” Bellamy explains when Abby gives him a questioning look.

“Since I don’t presume to read minds like the prosecution, would you please clarify your thoughts upon finding Murphy in the woods?”

Miller nods, taking a deep, evening breath before answering.

“When we first found Murphy I… I admit I wasn’t happy to see him.”

Miller’s eyes find Murphy’s across the room, regret swirling around them.

“I did want to leave him there to die… and I’m not proud of it. We’ve all done fucked up things, things we're not proud of, many of us have done things worse than Murphy. I regret ever thinking of leaving him in those woods, he doesn’t deserve that… or this.”

Bellamy glances to the jury, seeing the sympathetic looks they are giving Miller and Murphy. 

“No further questions.”

Miller visibly relaxes as he leaves the witness stand, grasping Bellamy’s shoulder briefly as he passes him. Bellamy returns to his own seat as Abby flips through her papers. 

“Prosecution, your next witness?”

Leighton rifles through the paperwork on the table in front of him, holding up a finger as he mumbles under his breath. Bellamy watches as he adjusts the collar of his shirt, sweat on his brow.

“If the prosecution has no more witnesses,” Abby says impatiently, watching Leighton with thinly veiled disappointment. 

“No, no,” Leighton assures, scanning a piece of paper, “I call Lieutenant Denby to the stand.”

Murphy pops his head back up to watch Denby walks down the aisle, cockiness evident in his stride. 

“Asshole,” Murphy says under his breath, voice scathing. 

Bellamy turns to him whispering, “You know him?”

“Yeah, he was a guard in the Skybox.”

Bellamy watches Denby take a seat on the witness chair, emitting as much pretentiousness as Leighton, maybe more.

“But you haven’t seen him since?”

Murphy shakes his head, confusion on his face as Bellamy eyes Denby with careful calculation.

“Lieutenant Denby, you were assigned to the Juvenile Lockup sector during your time on the Ark, is that correct?”

“Yessir,” Denby eagerly answers.

“And you had several encounters with prisoner number two hundred eighty-five, John Murphy, is that correct?”

“Objection,” Bellamy calls yet again, rising from his seat to address Abby.

“What is it now Mr. Blake?”

“The prosecution is speaking to past crimes,” Bellamy argues calmly, “crimes that the council has already stated that Murphy has been absolved of.”

Leighton shakes his head rapidly as he stands up to approach Abby and Denby.

“This speaks to the character of the accused, Chancellor,” Leighton argues.

Abby pinches the bridge of her nose in frustration, tired eyes looking between the two of them.

“I’ll allow it,” Abby sighs, raising her hand to stop Bellamy before he can protest, “as long as you keep the questioning to Mr. Murphy’s character and not the past crimes he committed.”

Leighton nods with an air of self-congratulations as Bellamy sits back down begrudgingly.

“Worth a try,” Octavia mumbles somewhere behind him, sounding as frustrated as he feels.

“Lieutenant Denby, if you would please answer the question.”

Denby nods, puffing out his chest like a peacock.

“Prisoner two hundred eighty-five was a constant problem, he was always getting written up for one thing or another.”

Leighton nods, pursing his lips as he flips to another page of his notes.

“And can you give us an example of these things he was being written up for?”

“Oh just everything,” Denby complains, “you name it.”

Leighton motions for Denby to proceed when he finishes talking. Denby scratches his head, taking a minute to catch on.

“Swearing, disorderly conduct, assaulting a guard, I mean you name it.”

Leighton nods thoughtfully as he turns to look at the jury.

"So, Lieutenant, would you say that Mr. Murphy was a troublesome inmate?"

"Oh yeah," Denby agrees harshly, "always getting into trouble that one."

Leighton nods, turning to look down his nose at Murphy.

“No further questions.”

Bellamy is eager to get out of his chair, approaching Denby with an air of confidence.

“I was hoping you could clarify a few things for me. You said that Murphy was constantly written up?”

“Yes,” Denby answers impatiently, eyes hard.

“For swearing you said? And disorderly conduct? Could you clarify what exactly you mean by ‘disorderly conduct’?”

Denby shifts uncomfortably in his chair, looking to Leighton before speaking.

“All kinds of things… you know, cutting in line, being out of his cot after curfew…” Denby states weakly, growing more irritated.

“So, Murphy was constantly getting written up for… cutting the lunch line and missing his bedtime? Do I have that right?” 

Bellamy hears scattered laughter behind him and he watches closely as Denby bristles at the noise.

“He assaulted a guard,” Denby eventually counters, straightening up in his seat.

“Can you clarify that? Who did he attack?”

“I don’t see why that’s important,” Denby shoots back voice laced with anger, knuckles white as he clenches his fists at his sides.

Bellamy approaches Denby casually, only a few feet away, he can see the rage swirling around in his eyes.

“Are you refusing to answer the question?” Bellamy questions, voice innocent.

“He attacked me,” Denby growls out, “still got a scar to prove it.”

Bellamy leans in when Denby cranes his neck to the left, spotting a small, white knick on Denby’s jawline. 

“And why did he attack you?”

Denby balks at that before stiffening back up, rage boiling in him.

“Objection,” Leighton scoffs as if he doesn’t care either way.

“It speaks to Murphy’s character, does it not?” Bellamy argues easily.

“I’ll allow it,” Abby states cautiously, watching Bellamy closely.

“Lieutenant Denby, why did Murphy attack you?” Bellamy tries again, stepping even closer to Denby.

“He attacked me because he’s a _ psychopath _,” Denby spits out, raising out of his seat fractionally.

“That’s not an answer,” Jasper shouts from the crowd, gaining a few murmured agreements.

“Quiet or you will be removed from the courtroom,” Abby warns impatiently, glaring into the crowd.

Bellamy waits until the room calms down to turn back towards Denby, slowly assessing him.

“Let me ask you this.” Bellamy lays his hands flat on the table in front of Denby and leans in, effectively entering his personal space. “Did Murphy ever attack anyone else, or just you?” 

“I don’t know what you think you’re getting at,” Denby yells, standing up from his chair and pushing into the table to get into Bellamy’s face.

“I think that’s all the answer we need,” Bellamy parrots, looking to Leighton as he walks back to his chair.

“Lieutenant Denby, that’ll be all,” Abby says, visibly shaken by the events that just transpired but trying to remain calm and collected.

All eyes are on Denby as he storms out of the courtroom, glaring as he passes by Bellamy. The jury are talking among themselves, half of them shooting appalled glances to where Denby just exited and the rest of them glancing over at Murphy with something akin to sympathy.

“Prosecution, would you please call your next witness?” 

Leighton fumbles through his paperwork for a minute before glancing irritatedly over at Bellamy and then up to Abby.

“The prosecution rests,” Leighton begrudgingly announces.

Abby attempts to hide her shock, fumbling for words as Leighton sits impassively before her. 

“Alright, we’ll break for lunch. One hour and we’ll reconvene.”

**. · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . ·**

Bellamy paces anxiously across the room. Back and forth. Back and forth.

Step, step, step, step, step, pause, turn, step, step, step-

The door at the front of the room slides open revealing Octavia and Lincoln.

Bellamy releases a huge breath as he crosses the room, pulling Octavia into a tight hug.

“You’re doing really good,” Octavia says into his ear, pulling back to give him an honest smile.

“Don’t feel like I am…”

Octavia stares across the room to where Murphy sits unmoving, quirking her eyebrow at Bellamy.

“Has he eaten anything?”

Bellamy looks to where their untouched plates sit on the center table, before looking back to Octavia with a meek smile.

“Nerves,” Bellamy explains, “he won’t even talk to me.”

Octavia’s eyebrows shoot up in shock, before glancing back towards Murphy.

He sits on a bench in the corner of the room, eyes distant and muscles stiff. His hand comes up to absentmindedly rub at his nose, but otherwise, he doesn’t move. 

“I’ve got this,” Octavia announces making her way towards Murphy, grabbing one of the plates of food on the way over.

She sits on the bench next to Murphy, punching him lightly on the shoulder to get his attention. She sets the plate on his lap, nudging him until he starts to pick at the food.

“You did well in there,” Lincoln says, causing Bellamy to turn towards him, “do you think you will still need Clarke and Jackson?”

Bellamy nods, glancing back towards Murphy to see him looking over at them. Bellamy gives him a reassuring smile before turning back towards Lincoln.

“The first half was just me shutting down everything Leighton was throwing at us. I need Jackson and Clarke to help me in this second part; that’s when we’re going to get the people on our side.”

“It seems like a lot of back and forth,” Lincoln observes inquisitively. 

“You do it differently?” Bellamy asks, watching as Murphy smiles at something Octavia says to him.

“Heda determines guilt,” Lincoln explains, “although the accused may be permitted a trial by combat.”

Bellamy looks back to Lincoln with a surprised smile.

“You know, at this point, that doesn’t sound too bad.”

**. · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . ·**

Bellamy shifts in his seat, anxiety coursing through him. He glances over his shoulder, shooting a weak smile at the gathered delinquents behind him. Jasper shoots him an enthusiastic thumbs-up, earning an elbow in the gut from Monty. 

“Ow, what was that for?” Jasper whines, rubbing his stomach with a frown on his face.

“This isn’t the time to be joking around,” Monty whispers scoldingly. 

“I was being _ sincere_!” 

Silence falls across the room as Abby enters through the back door, closely followed by Leighton. Several members of the jury watch the pair with careful consideration. Abby takes her seat at the front of the room, glancing up as Leighton takes his seat.

“Defense, would you like to call your first witness?”

Bellamy stands up, looking behind himself waiting until Clarke meets his eyes and nods to proceed.

“Clarke Griffin.”

Abby visibly tenses, face pinched as Clarke makes her way to the witness stand.

“Clarke, can you tell me about why Murphy was banished... in your own words?”

Clarke takes a deep, steadying breath as she glances sideways at Murphy before turning her gaze downward.

“Murphy was hung after falsely being accused of murdering Wells. After Charlotte confessed to killing Wells Murphy wanted… justice. Out of fear, Murphy made some mistakes. Those mistakes, and ours, and Charlotte’s mistakes lead to the tragic-” Clarke’s voice cracks, eyes watering. 

“It’s alright, take your time,” Bellamy assures her, voice pitched low.

“I don’t see how this line of questioning is relevant,” Leighton drawls, setting his annoyed gaze onto Abby. 

“I don’t see how you’re relevant!” Is yelled from somewhere in the crowd, followed by hushed laughter.

Abby slams her hand on the table, angrily glaring out at the crowd.

“That is _ enough_!”

The jury and the rows of citizens are shocked, leaning back in their seats. Bellamy takes a step back at the sudden commotion, cautiously addressing Abby.

“It goes to Murphy’s character,” Bellamy states, looking between Abby and Leighton with a serious expression on his face.

Abby waves her hand, motioning for them to continue, her face still pinched in anger.

“Murphy was banished for the poor choices he made,” Clarke continues, voice wavering, “and although we never meant for it to happen, he was also tortured. Murphy has served his sentence.”

“Thank you,” Bellamy says sincerely, squeezing Clarke’s hand before returning to his seat.

Leighton saunters up to the witness stand, taking his time as he watches Clarke.

“Ms. Griffin, you said that Murphy was wrongly accused of murder and was subsequently hung, is that correct?” 

Clarke nods numbly saying, “Unfortunately, there was a mob… it shouldn’t have happened…”

Leighton nods in understanding, face sympathetic. Bellamy wants to punch him.

“And after you realized he was innocent of that murder you cut him down, after which he was instrumental in the suicide of Charlotte Lewis and then you decided to banish him, is that correct?”

Clarke stiffens at Leighton’s words, clenching her fists under the table.

“It’s a little more complicated than tha-”

“It’s a yes or no question,” Leighton cuts her off, crossing his arms as he leans against his table, “did you or did you not decide to banish Mr. Murphy?”

Clarke glares down at Leighton, inhaling sharply through her nose.

“Yes, we decided to banish Murphy but we regre-”

“And what gives you the authority to banish people, to hang them?” Leighton asks, voice rising as he looks to the jury. 

“What gives _ me _ the authority?” Clarke asks, voice bordering on hysterical. “You sent us down here, with _ nothing_. You didn’t even know if the earth was _ survivable_! Who gave me the authority, who gave you the authority to judge us? We were doing what we had to do to survive, we were doing our best despite _you_.”

Empathic applause emits from part of the audience and many jury members nod their head in understanding. Matching shocked expressions are on Abby and Leighton’s faces, as they stare at Clarke in silence. 

“No further questions,” Leighton all but whispers, sitting down quietly for once.

The room falls into heavy silence, unsure of how to proceed. Clarke gets up from the witness stand and slowly makes her way back to her seat, her footfalls echo in the otherwise silent room.

“The defense calls Eric Jackson,” Bellamy calls, breaking the silence.

Abby nods belatedly, motioning with her arm to the witness stand as she snaps out of wherever her mind took her.

Bellamy gets up again as Jackson passes him, following him over to the witness stand.

“Could you explain to the court, from a medical standpoint, the trauma Murphy has endured?”

“When Murphy was brought back to Arkadia he had several deep lacerations, second and third-degree burns, and an infected wound in his abdomen. He was lacking proper hydration and nutrition. He had broken bones and his fingernails had been torn out. And that’s just the physical aspects.” 

Several loud gasps are heard around the room, as people begin murmuring. Bellamy turns as he hears Murphy’s chair creak, his face flushed with shame as he stares dutifully at his lap.

“And what do you mean that’s just the physical aspects?” Bellamy questions once everyone has settled down.

“Well that kind of physical pain, that kind of torture, it takes a toll on the mind as well. You don’t come out of something like that without a few demons.” 

“Thank you, Jackson,” Bellamy says kindly, “no further questions.”

Leighton doesn't look up from his notes until Abby clears her throat, gaining his reluctant attention.

"The prosecution has no questions for this witness."

"You can call your next witness, Mr. Blake."

Bellamy glances from Abby to Murphy, seeing the vacant look in his eyes. He can see the exhaustion in his body, can feel it in his own. With a glance behind him, Octavia gives him a curt, knowing nod.

"The defense rests," Bellamy announces, body sagging slightly in his chair.

Jackson returns to his seat as Abby examines her notes again, before addressing the room.

“Prosection, you may make your closing statements.”

Leighton rises from his chair, regaining his smug self-confidence as he approaches the jury.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the court, I urge you to not listen to the ramblings of these minors,” Leighton gestures over to the delinquents, “but instead look to the history, this man’s past with the law.” 

Leighton strides over to stand in front of Murphy, still addressing the jury as he points out Murphy.

“Make the right decision and banish this man before he can do more harm.”

With that Leighton takes his seat, nodding to Abby with a smile that she doesn't return.

“We should not make the same mistakes that we did in the past, we should do better in this new future we are creating for ourselves,” Bellamy says, angling his body between the jury and the audience as he speaks.

“We _ banished _ one hundred children to the ground and look where that got us. It’s time to stop. It’s time to _ heal_.”

Jasper claps enthusiastically from the crowd, Monty rolls his eyes slowly clapping alongside him. A ripple effect spreads throughout the crowd as all the gathered delinquents join in.

“The jury will now deliberate,” Abby announces over the applause, standing up and exiting the room swiftly.

The jury walks out of a separate exit as the room begins to empty of people.

Octavia runs up to him, wrapping her arms around him and hugging tightly.

“You did it,” she beams, punching him lightly on the shoulder in congratulations.

“We did it,” Bellamy responds, cautiously optimistic, “maybe.”

**. · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . ·**

Murphy’s leg shakes as his foot taps the floor nervously, hands wringing and eyes downcast. Bellamy sits next to him on the bench outside of the courtroom, bringing his hand to gently rest on Murphy’s wobbling knee.

“It’s going to be okay,” Bellamy tells him, sounding insincere even to his own ears.

Murphy looks up to him, hand rubbing at his already red nose.

“And if it isn’t, if they decide to…” Murphy lets the unfinished sentence hang in the air, though they both know what he was going to say.

“If it isn’t then we’ll all move into the woods together,” Jasper announces from above them, causing both of them to jump in their seats.

“Fuck Jasper,” Murphy curses, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“I can build us houses,” Raven adds on as she walks over, voice serious.

“We know how to garden,” Monty chimes in, holding up his and Harper’s joined hands.

“Lincoln knows the lay of the land,” Octavia points out, leaning against the wall with a smile.

“We’re in,” Miller says, earning a begrudging nod from Bryan.

“So it’s settled then,” Bellamy states happily, “we’ll start a little family out in the woods.” 

“Sounds like a commune,” Bryan replies, Miller kicking him in the leg.

“Or a cult,” Jasper helpfully supplies.

“You’re all insane,” Murphy informs them, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

They are interrupted when Clarke and Jackson loudly open the doors to the courtroom.

“The jury is back.”

Bellamy turns to Murphy with an optimistic smile. "Ready?"

"No," Murphy replies, getting up and entering the courtroom.

**. · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . ·**

Anxiety and nervous anticipation thrum through the room as everyone takes their seats, expectant eyes on the members of the jury.

“Has the jury reached a verdict?” Abby asks from the front of the room.

One of the jury members stands up, holding a slip of paper in her hands as she turns to speak to Abby. 

“We have,” she states and the world stops.

Everyone holds their collective breath as the woman pauses before opening the slip of paper. Bellamy can see the way her hands shake, can feel his own shaking in unison. Can feel the whole room shaking.

“We find John Murphy… not guilty.”

Bellamy forgets how to breathe, ears ringing as he looks at the woman not processing her words. It isn’t until he feels a solid weight behind him that he hears the cheering. 

Octavia hugs him from behind, her face beaming with joy and relief. Behind her the delinquents are hugging and cheering, unable to control their excitement. 

Across the room Leighton looks shocked, walking over to snatch the paper from the young woman’s hands so that he can read it over for himself.

Abby sits back heavily in her chair, exhaustion and relief washing over her.

Bellamy finally feels as if he can breathe. He looks down at Murphy who is staring blankly ahead, confusion on his face.

“We did it, Murph,” Bellamy exclaims, pulling Murphy into a gentle hug, “we did it.”

It’s a couple of seconds before Murphy wraps his arms around Bellamy, loosely returning the hug. Around them are the sounds of celebration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading this.  
All comments, questions, and constructive criticism welcome!


	4. Watch Me Choke

Bellamy steps out of the Ark into the cool evening air feeling accomplished.

Murphy has been cleared of all charges and is no longer being held by the council. He won’t be banished, held prisoner or executed. Bellamy knew holding a trial was a long shot in the first place, but he can’t help but pat himself on the back a little on how well everything turned out.

He passes by the mess hall with a spring in his step, satisfactory smile plastered to his face.

He takes a sharp left after passing the mess hall following the muted sounds of music and laughing. He quickly comes into sight of the gathered teenagers, stowed away in the farthest corner of Arkadia.

Jasper and Monty are the first he spots, he watches as they enthusiastically pour drinks and pass them around to people. Harper and Monroe stand a little off to the side watching the two boys and rolling their eyes as Jasper sloshes another drink into the hands of another delinquent, Monty laughing as the contents pour down the front of Jasper’s shirt.

Across the small clearing is a makeshift dance floor, where Jasper has plugged in his iPod and someone has hung up lights that twinkle against the dark night sky. 

Bryan and Miller are swaying to the music, their movements sluggish and uncoordinated no doubt from the drinks in their hands; smiles plaster their faces regardless as they hold onto each other.

Bellamy moves further into the party, taking in the joyful atmosphere that envelopes him like a warm blanket. 

He realizes that the council has to know to some degree what is going on, the music and voices too loud to not be heard by someone. He figures that they know when they’ve been beat, besides what are they going to do with a bunch of partying teenagers? Not like they can float them again.

Bellamy happily takes the drink that Jasper eagerly shoves into his hand, returning Monty’s content nod. 

Winding his way deeper into the celebrations, Bellamy passes by Clarke and Raven giving them an acknowledging nod. As he passes by the dance floor he notices Bryan and Miller have switched to slow dancing to the fast-beat pop song that comes out of the speakers.

He finally comes upon Octavia and Lincoln, tucked away in the corner of the festivities, each of them with a mug of moonshine. Bellamy watches in curiosity as Lincoln’s face turns sour as he takes another swig from his mug.

“Lincoln is used to more… refined alcohol,” Octavia explains noticing Bellamy’s confusion.

“Ah,” Bellamy agrees, scanning the dance floor again.

“It’s not bad” Lincoln assures, his face telling a different story, “just… potent.”

“That’s Jasper and Monty for you.”

Bellamy nods along, not truly paying attention, eyes still roving the small clearing.

“Looking for something?” Lincoln questions, swirling the contents of his cup.

“More like someone,” Octavia scoffs, easily downing the last of her cup and giving Lincoln a triumphant smile.

Bellamy finally glances back at the pair, meeting Octavia’s knowing gaze.

“Yeah,” Bellamy agrees distractedly, “have either of you seen Murphy? I haven’t seen him since this afternoon after the trial…”

“Maybe he doesn’t want to be found,” Octavia offers, reaching across Lincoln to steal the cup from his hand.

“What does that mean?” 

Octavia quirks her brow giving Bellamy a serious look.

“I’m going to go refill this for you,” Lincoln offers, sensing the tension.

Neither Blake watches as Lincoln makes his speedy exit, eyes glued to one another.

“Ever since we found Murphy in the woods you’ve been chasing him around like a lovesick puppy,” Octavia states wasting no time in beating around the bush.

“I’m trying to make amends,” Bellamy defends, anger seeping into his words.

“With what? Your dick?”

Bellamy gapes at Octavia, for once at a loss for words.

“Have you even once apologized to him,” Octavia continues, using Bellamy’s shocked silence as all the answer she needs.

“I, I said-”

“Really apologized,” Octavia urges, “like actually said the words Bell?”

Bellamy’s eyes drop to the ground, mind running in a million different directions. He was sure he had, at some point he must have…

“He likes you too, you know?” 

Octavia’s gentle voice breaks him from his thoughts and he looks back up to her in confusion.

“What?”

Octavia lets out a long sigh, eyes rolling as she nudges Bellamy in the side.

“You two really make a pair, huh?”

When Bellamy just stares at her with blank confusion, she rolls her eyes again.

“I really have to do everything, don’t I? Look he stumbled off over behind the Ark a little while back. He looks rough, so maybe now isn’t the best time to confess your love for him.”

“Ha ha,” Bellamy deadpans, feet already carrying him in the direction Octavia motioned to.

Halfway across the field Bellamy turns around to find Octavia still watching him, reassuring smile on her face.

“Thanks O,” he yells over the music recieving a sarcastic thumbs up in return. 

**. · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . ·**

Passing by a drunk teenager leaning against the Ark for support as he empties the contents of his stomach, Bellamy makes his way to the back of the Ark. 

Moving away from the loud noises of the party Bellamy walks in the narrow passage between the back of the Ark and the fence. Several minutes pass as Bellamy slowly walks along the fence, peering out into the dark of the night.

Just when he’s about to give up and head back to complain to Octavia about her shitty advice he hears a sound. Odd, arrhythmic clanking.

_ Thud. Thud. Thud Thud. Th- Thud. Thud… Thud. Thud Thud. _

Glancing around in the dark Bellamy tries to find the source of the sound. It sounds like metal, something hitting metal, something dull hitting metal. 

He puts his hand to the wall of the Ark, feeling the sound reverberate through the smooth metal in the same annoying, offbeat pulse.

Looking up Bellamy spots a silhouette perched high up on a broken off portion of the Ark, legs swinging back and forth, each hit sending an echoing vibration down the tall metal structure. 

Bellamy considers yelling up to him but figures he wouldn’t be able to hear him very well, and even if he could Bellamy doesn’t want to draw the attention of anyone close by.

Taking a deep, steadying breath Bellamy grabs on to the warped, jagged metal siding of the Ark and slowly makes the daunting climb up, up, up.

As he reaches the top of the structure Bellamy can make out Murphy’s form better, his dark clothes still blending with the night sky. His pale skin seems almost luminescent in the moonlight, his healing bruises even more prominent in comparison.

Bellamy has to sidestep to make it out to the jutted ridge that Murphy has taken up residence in.

When he’s a few feet away from him Bellamy hears a gentle humming, barely heard over the continuous thumping of his heavy boots against the metal siding.

Bellamy tries to place the song, hovering just out of Murphy’s space as he racks his mind. 

He swears he has heard it before, it tugs on old, long-forgotten memories. Just as his brain is starting to pull the memory to the forefront of his mind, the melodic humming abruptly comes to a stop.

Bellamy glances up to find Murphy staring down at the mug clasped tightly in his hands, either completely unaware of Bellamy’s presence or completely indifferent.

“You’re missing your party,” Bellamy informs him, sitting down in the small space next to Murphy.

Murphy hums his acknowledgment, not bothering to take his eyes off the mug in his hands, knuckles turning white with the force of holding it. 

Bellamy nudges him, trying to playfully get his attention, which earns him a sideways glance before Murphy drops his gaze down again.

“You look like shit.”

It comes out barely a whisper, devoid of emotion.

“I don’t like heights,” Bellamy supplies, trying to keep his voice and body from swaying.

“Man you must have loved growing up in space then,” Murphy replies dryly, still not lifting his gaze from the mug in his hand. 

“Had a little too much to drink there Murph?” Bellamy jokes, eyeing Murphy’s tight grasp with concern.

“I don’t drink,” Murphy retorts, words wobbling, “not sin-”

Murphy pauses to rub his nose, turning his gaze away from Bellamy.

“I don’t drink,” he states firmly, both hands returning to their place on the cup.

Bellamy has a million questions racing through his mind, turning he takes in Murphy’s tense posture and decides to let them all go.

“So if you don’t drink…” Bellamy waits until Murphy is looking at him to finish, “why do you have a drink?”

Murphy scoffs at him like he just asked the stupidest question in the history of stupid questions and Bellamy can’t help but feel like he just put his foot in his mouth.

“Murphy, you can talk to me about anything, you know that right?”

Bellamy lets the unanswered, unacknowledged question hang in the air for several long minutes before changing tactics.

“Look, Murphy, when we found you in the woods and brought you back here-”

“I hope you’re not expecting me to thank you for that, cause I never will,” Murphy cuts him off, voice and body swaying gently as he looks off into the night sky. 

Bellamy flinches back, as if slapped, reeling and at a loss for words.

_ Have you even once apologized to him? _

Octavia’s words echo in his head, nagging him into action.

_ Really apologized, like actually said the words Bell? _

Chewing nervously on his lower lip, Bellamy sighs deeply before gently reaching out to place a comforting hand on Murphy’s shoulder.

“I never got the chance to say this, but I want you to know how sorr-”

“You know, you might have cut me down from that tree Bell,” Murphy turns to look him in the eyes and Bellamy can’t help but to feel pinned down by his burning gaze. “But I’ve had a noose around my neck ever since.”

Every time Bellamy goes to speak Murphy cuts him off with a curveball, knocking all words and cohesive thoughts out of him.

Bellamy opens his mouth to try again, loses the words as he watches Murphy roughly rub his neck, eyes shamefully tracking the movement.

“Only this kind of noose doesn’t kill you all at once.”

Murphy laughs a little and shakes his head, eyes dropping back down to his cup of moonshine.

“No. This kind of noose kills you slowly, day by day, until the life drains out of your body.”

Murphy releases his loose grip on the cup and they both watch it plummet to the ground below. It ricochets off the metal siding of the ark and bounces into the fence before falling into the dirt with a soft thud. The contents of the cup spill out onto the ground making a small puddle that reflects the moon and the stars reminding Bellamy of a painting he once saw in Mount Weather.

“You ever feel that way?” 

Bellamy doesn’t know how to answer that question and he feels that Murphy isn’t really looking for an answer anyway.

Murphy smiles when he looks at Bellamy, something sardonic in the twist of his lips. Bellamy sees the pain in his eyes, the hurt, the weariness, the anguish. 

He sees the longing there too, the cautious hope, the reserved warmth and he hopes he isn’t imagining it. 

He sees the young boy that was sent down here to his death and the hardened man that has grown out of the trauma. He sees the physical scars that marr Murphy’s pale skin, and the sea of emotions that rage in his eyes.

He finds himself getting lost in that sea too often, but he finds he doesn’t mind drowning as long as it’s with Murphy.

“That song you were humming earlier,” Bellamy says, not fully aware that the words are leaving his mouth until Murphy scrunches up his face in confusion.

“What about it?” Murphy asks, eyes searching Bellamy’s.

“I swear I’ve heard it before…” 

Murphy scoffs, rubbing at his nose as he looks down to where he dropped his cup.

“Yeah, it’s an old nursery rhyme…”

“Oh yeah,” Bellamy exclaims triumphantly, “I used to sing that to Octavia all the time.”

Murphy glances sideways at Bellamy, something soft yet cold swirling around in his eyes now.

“Yeah, my mom used to sing it to me too before…”

Murphy’s voice breaks off as he swallows thickly, his dry throat clicking audibly. 

“Before my dad was floated and the drinking started.”

A silent “Oh,” falls from Bellamy’s lips as he follows Murphy’s gaze down to the spilled cup, finally putting the pieces together.

Murphy doesn’t dwell on the moment for long, doesn’t let Bellamy either, as he gets up and pushes past him to get to the way back down.

Murphy’s foot slips a little as he passes Bellamy and he shoots his hand out to try to catch him, Murphy shoving his hand away before he can touch him.

“Don’t touch me,” Murphy snaps, already making his descent.

“Be careful,” Bellamy warns, following close behind Murphy in concern.

“I told you I didn’t drink,” Murphy shoots back, continuing to climb down.

Bellamy hurries to follow him, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Murphy doesn’t lose his grip. 

“I know, I just want you to be careful…”

Murphy scoffs below him, quickening in his descent just to watch Bellamy fumble to keep up. He almost loses his footing, foot slipping and bumping Murphy’s hand. Murphy’s hand swats his leg, causing him to cling to the sleek structure in fear of falling.

In his haste to get away from Bellamy, Murphy’s hand slips causing him to fall the last couple of feet to land heavily on the ground. 

Bellamy rushes down to get to Murphy, jumping off as he nears the ground and kneeling down next Murphy.

Murphy leans back against the cold, metal wall tipping his head back to look at the stars.

“Are you okay?” Concern bleeds into Bellamy’s words as his hands roam hesitantly over Murphy, ghosting over his body as he tries to meet his eyes. 

“No.”

Bellamy’s head snaps up at the simple word, eyes meeting icy blue. Bellamy nods, shifting to sit next to Murphy, offering his hand in the space between them.

Without looking Murphy grasps his hand like a lifeline, interlacing their fingers without a word.

“Thanks,” Murphy mumbles, eyes on their joined hands, “for the court bullshit.”

Bellamy smiles, thumb rubbing small, soothing circles into Murphy’s hand.

“Bullshit is what I do best.”

Murphy huffs a laugh, head coming to rest against Bellamy’s shoulder. 

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” Murphy replies without malice, words giving away his exhaustion. 

They sit in companionable silence, music and laughter drifting from the party the only sound to be heard. 

With Murphy’s warm, heavy weight pressed up against his side Bellamy starts to drift, his eyelids growing heavy and his body sagging against the unforgiving metal siding of the Ark. 

“I’m just so tired, Bell.”

Murphy’s voice pulls him from his sleep and he cranes his neck to look at Murphy who is leaning heavily against his chest. 

Bellamy thinks he must have imagined Murphy’s words, but then Murphy sniffs harshly, hand coming up to roughly rub at his nose. 

“Let’s go to bed,” Bellamy says softly, hand running through Murphy’s soft locks. 

Bellamy stands up slowly, pulling a reluctant Murphy up with him. 

Once standing Murphy continues to lean heavily against Bellamy, not budging when Bellamy tries to start walking back to their rooms. 

“Alright my little damsel,” Bellamy jokes, smile growing as Murphy tucks his head in the crook of Bellamy’s neck. 

Murphy clings to him as Bellamy easily picks him up, and carries him bridal-style through the camp, pretending not to see the tears that stream down his face as they glint in the moonlight.

**. · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . ·**

“Throw me a bone here,” Bellamy begs, his voice on the edge of whiny.

Raven glances up from the front left fender of the rover she’s been tinkering with since Bellamy entered her lab, unimpressed gaze pinning him in place.

“I don’t think it’s my bone you’re after,” Raven replies dryly, flipping down her welding mask as she turns on her blowtorch, bringing it down to the project in front of her.

Bellamy steps back from the table as hot metal sparks up as Raven continues as if Bellamy isn’t there.

“Why are you up so early anyway?” Raven questions, turning off the blowtorch.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Bellamy retorts with a shrug. 

“Murphy talks in his sleep,” Bellamy explains after a minute, growing uncomfortable as Raven silently stares at him.

Even though Bellamy can’t see Raven’s face through the welding mask he can feel her roll her eyes anyway. Raven flips the blowtorch back on without a word, shaking her head.

“All you have to do is sign off on the paperwork, right here at the bottom. I’ll take care of everything else,” Bellamy reasons, trying to be heard over the screech of the blowtorch. “Wouldn’t be the first time you have lied to the council.”

Raven flicks off the blowtorch as she registers Bellamy’s last sentence, someone looking scarier with it off.

“I thought you said it wasn’t technically lying,” Raven points out, voice muffled by the welding mask yet derision coming through in full force.

Raven doesn’t leave room for Bellamy to defend himself, switching the blowtorch on as she resumes her work. 

Bellamy watches in silence as Raven slowly heats up the metal of the fender, focusing on the rather large dent. After a while Raven turns off the blowtorch, reaching across the table to grab a hammer.

Holding the hammer up Raven turns to look at where Bellamy is plastered to the wall, sheet of paper still firmly in his hand. He gives her a meek smile, raising the paper up a bit with a hopeful look.

“You’re not leaving me in peace until you get that signature, are you?”

Bellamy shakes his head, smile growing as Raven lets the hammer fall out of her hand and onto the work table with a heavy sigh. 

“You’re lucky I don’t work well with an audience,” Raven mutters, pushing her welding helmet up to better glare at Bellamy.

She wipes the sweat off her forward with one arm, reaching out with the other she waves insistently at Bellamy.

Bellamy surges forward, holding out the piece of paper for her to grab, watching intently as she looks it over.

“Order form for expedition… parts for the rover… dropship… two-party team…” Raven mumbles out loud as she reads over the form, holding up a hand to silence Bellamy when he tries to interject.

After scanning the document Raven holds out her hand again as she impatiently looks up at Bellamy, waiting until Bellamy hands her the pen before looking back down at the paper.

Raven makes a point of clicking the pen, hovering the ink-covered tip over the signature line of the document, eyeing Bellamy again.

“I’ll sign this,” Raven says causing Bellamy to sigh in relief, “under one condition.”

“Anything,” he agrees readily, nodding eagerly.

“Since you’re already going to be out there, I need some berries that I heard grow near the dropship.”

Bellamy shoots Raven a confused look as she signs the paperwork, returning it and the pen to Bellamy with a grin.

“Berries?” Bellamy questions, already knowing where this is heading.

“Don’t judge,” Raven scolds, slipping her mask back into place, “Monty and Jasper say they can make a really good drink out of them.”

Bellamy throws his hands up in defense, backing out of Raven’s lab before she can change her mind.

“No judgment,” Bellamy promises as he reaches the doorway, folding the paper neatly.

Bellamy knocks on the doorway with a smile. “Thanks Raven,” he says in parting.

“Yeah, yeah. Say hi to that little cockroach for me,” Raven calls, blowtorch drowning out the last of her sentence.

**. · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . ·**

Bellamy watches the light from the rising sun as it dances across Murphy’s face, filtering in through the blinds.

Murphy’s face contorts in his sleep, mouth forming silent words. He tosses his head back and forth occasionally, hair tousling as he presses into the pillow.

Bellamy smiles down at him fondly, watching as his nose twitches finally registering the scent that wafts through the room.

Murphy’s eyes flutter open a second later, bleary gaze set on the ceiling. He stretches out on the bed, moaning softly as his back pops.

He curls tightly into himself as he turns to face Bellamy, inadvertently tangling himself up in the sheets in the process. 

Murphy smiles as his eyes focus on what Bellamy has in his hands, visibly perking up as he moves to lazily lean against the headboard. 

“Morning, Freckles,” Murphy drawls out, making grabby hands at one of the mugs of coffee in Bellamy’s hands. 

Bellamy pulls the coffee back out of reach before Murphy can grab ahold of it, relishing in the puppy eyes Murphy gives him.

“C’mon Freckles,” Murphy pouts, suppressing a grin when Bellamy glares at him, “don’t be like that.”

Bellamy rolls his eyes, nudging Murphy lightly with his socked foot.

“Scoot over, Scarface.”

Murphy rolls over dramatically, tangling himself deeper in the sheets, stealing one of the mugs before Bellamy has a chance to stop him. 

“I don’t think that means what you think it means,” Murphy informs him, sprawling his legs on top of Bellamy’s as he settles into the bed.

“Yeah, well I didn’t spend much of my time watching pointless movies.” 

“Whatever,” Murphy mumbles under his breath, “history nerd.”

Murphy easily dodges Bellamy’s elbow, twisting so that he is pressed into Bellamy’s side.

“How long were you watching me sleep, stalker?”

Bellamy glances down at the top of Murphy’s head, catches the smug smirk he hides in his coffee mug.

“Long enough to hear you call out to me in your sleep,” Bellamy replies easily.

Murphy pushes off Bellamy suddenly, scoffing as he meets Bellamy’s amused gaze.

“Was not,” Murphy argues indignantly.

Bellamy hums as he takes a sip of coffee, leaning back against the headboard and staring out the window.

“I got you for a second though.”

“You ain’t got shit.”

Murphy settles back against Bellamy’s chest, stretching up until Bellamy’s hand falls into his hair and begins stroking through the unruly locks. They fall into a pleasant silence, watching the sun rise as a gentle breeze blows through the open window.

“You up for an adventure today?”

Murphy hums noncommittally, pushing into Bellamy’s hand until he continues running his hands through Murphy's hair.

“Nice day for a walk, don’t you think?” Bellamy tries again, setting aside his now empty mug and propping himself up to better look at Murphy.

Taking the hint Murphy sprawls out next to Bellamy, coffee cup precariously positioned on his chest as he gazes up at Bellamy.

“What are you getting at, Blake?”

Reaching down to grab Murphy’s cup before it falls, Bellamy sets it on the nightstand before turning back around and cupping Murphy’s face with his hand.

“Well it turns out Raven needs some parts that aren’t here at Arkadia, so I was thinking we could go to the dropship and get them for her.”

Bellamy notices the change instantly, feels the tension seep into Murphy’s body, sees the way he shifts ever so slightly away from Bellamy. His lax body goes stiff at Bellamy’s words and his gaze goes distant.

Bellamy’s about to pull a 180 and rescind the offer, blow it off and say someone else can do it, but Murphy meets his eyes with a look of fragile determination.

“Yeah,” Murphy replies weakly, “sounds like fun.”

Murphy climbs over Bellamy to get out of bed, shrugging on his jacket and lacing up his boots before Bellamy can react.

“Hey, we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

Murphy pauses with his second boot halfway on giving Bellamy an unreadable look. 

“No, I want to. Nice day for a walk, like you said.”

His voice lacks any sense of emotion to tell Bellamy what is going on inside his head right now, so he climbs out of bed and slowly starts putting on his own boots.

“Yeah, well we could just go for a walk. Nothing more,” Bellamy says, trying to get a read on the situation.

Murphy eyes him as he stands back up, a mix of suspicion and frustration on his face. He throws Bellamy his jacket as he strides out of the door, leaving Bellamy to jog to catch up with him.

“You said Raven needed parts. I like Raven,” Murphy says plainly, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets as he leads them through the hallway.

Murphy lets Bellamy take his hand as he catches up, shoving them back into his pocket much to Bellamy’s annoyance. 

“Fine, but we have to stop by the munitions room first,” Bellamy informs him, pulling him down a hallway to the left.

**. · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . ·**

“Remind me why we need guns in order to retrieve some old wires,” Murphy groans, feet swinging from where he’s sat atop a crate. 

Bellamy glances over his shoulder, shaking his head as Murphy whines at him sounding like a little kid.

“I already told you, if we come across any animals we can bring them back to camp,” Bellamy explains, checking the scope of his rifle. “Besides we never know who or what we may run into out there.”

“And the council trusts me with a gun?” Murphy asks, hopping off the crate and pacing over to stand over Bellamy’s shoulder.

Bellamy lets Murphy take the rifle from his hands, watches as he fumbles with the strap, holding it improperly.

“Here,” Bellamy murmurs, positioning himself behind Murphy.

He lays his hands on Murphy’s own, wrapping himself around Murphy to correct his stance and cautious hold on the gun.

Murphy straightens up, lets Bellamy direct his body until he’s pointing the gun straight at the wall, head dipping to look through the scope.

Bellamy moves Murphy’s arm until it is fully extended, resting his head on Murphy’s shoulder.

“Breathe, relax, pull the trigger,” Bellamy instructs quietly.

Bellamy wraps his free arm loosely around Murphy’s chest and feels the air leave his lungs, chest contracting. He breathes in and out again, Bellamy’s arm rising and falling with him.

Finally, his body relaxes against Bellamy, all of him focused on the weapon he holds in his hand. Bellamy watches from over his shoulder as Murphy’s finger slides into place, another deep, steadying breath and his finger pulls the trigger.

The click of an empty chamber echoes through the room, the thunderous sound all Bellamy can hear in that moment.

Lifting his head, Murphy turns to look at Bellamy who is still propped on his shoulder.

“Like that?” He questions, face close enough that his breath sends shivers down Bellamy’s spine.

He thinks about kissing him, wouldn’t take much to surge those last few inches forward, but he thinks better of it when he sees the raw vulnerability in Murphy’s gaze.

“Just like that.”

**. · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . ·**

The gate screeches shut behind them

Murphy’s boots scrape across the gravel as he drags his feet, kicking every odd rock and watching it skitter across the ground. 

The gun slung loosely across his back glints in the early morning sun, reflecting light back at Bellamy as Murphy stoops to pick a standalone flower. 

Bellamy watches as Murphy twirls the flower in between his fingers, slowing his pace even more as he studies it.

Normally Bellamy would say something, urge Murphy to keep up, but he’s delighting in the simple joy that Murphy has with the small flower

“You remember that first day on the ground,” Murphy questions out of the blue, “and how the sun felt beating down on us.”

Bellamy watches as Murphy comes to a standstill, eyes closing as he tips his head to the sky and basks in the sunlight.

Bellamy thinks he looks like an angel, pale skin glowing, hair framing his face, halo wrapped around his throat.

“I’ll never forget that feeling.”

Freedom. Warmth. Happiness. 

He was so young then, so innocent. They all were.

“Yeah,” Bellamy agrees, drinking in the sight of Murphy.

Murphy opens his eyes and looks over at Bellamy, sly grin slotting into place causing butterflies in Bellamy’s stomach.

“Race you to the woods,” Murphy exclaims, already sprinting away.

Bellamy watches as Murphy runs across the field, delighting in the carefree laughter as he makes it to the treeline. It’s not until Murphy turns back towards him, motioning wildly for him to catch up that Bellamy’s feet begin to move.

Once Bellamy reaches the treeline he wordlessly directs Murphy to the main trail out of Arkadia, miles of tread marks laid out before them.

They walk silently side by side as they begin their departure into the dense forest. Murphy waits until they are deep in the woods, well out of sight to take Bellamy’s hand. Their hands slot together perfectly and Bellamy revels in the warmth of the contact.

Murphy pulls him along as he steps in the treadmarks of the rover, dutifully skipping every fifth indentation. 

“You know how to get there?” Murphy questions, eyes still glued to the treadmarks as he counts them off.

“We can follow this trail nearly the whole way,” Bellamy assures, gently squeezing Murphy’s hand.

  
  


Murphy doesn’t say anything else, simply nodding his head as they continue their walking along the winding trail deeper into the forest.

**. · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . ·**

“You’re lost aren’t you?”

Bellamy turns to where Murphy is casually leaning against a tree, eyes on the sky as if asking for whoever is up there to just take him already.

“We’re not lost,” Bellamy argues, looking back down at the crumpled map laid out in front of him.

“No, no, not_ we_. You. _ You _are lost.”

Bellamy glances back up to find Murphy has slid down the tree and is now sitting hunkered at the base of the tree, eyes closed and smug grin in place.

“You could _ help _you know,” Bellamy points out, picking up a pinecone off the forest floor and bouncing it off Murphy’s shoulder.

Murphy scoffs, opening his eyes just to roll them at Bellamy before shutting them again. Murphy snuggles down against the tree, getting comfortable.

“No,” Murphy replies simply, “I asked to look at the map twenty minutes ago. You’re on your own now.” 

Bellamy releases a heavy sigh as he stands up, nudging Murphy’s booted foot as he passes by.

“It should be just up here.”

“Yeah, that’s what you said twenty minutes ago, Bell.”

Bellamy hears Murphy heft himself up to follow Bellamy’s lead, despite his words of complaint. 

Murphy’s boots snap the twigs that sparsely litter the forest floor as they walk. Bellamy quickly grows used to the rhythm of the gentle cracking sound as it and Murphy follow him.

“We’re here,” Bellamy announces, coming to a stop as he spots the dilapidated remains of the camp’s makeshift wall. Murphy crashes into Bellamy’s back when he stops, eyes still on the ground.

Bellamy can feel Murphy’s tension at his back as he lifts his head and takes in the sight of the dropship camp.

“Wow, you weren’t kidding, this place really went to shit.”

“Yeah, well that’s what blowing up a ton of rocket fuel will do.”

Murphy scoffs as he walks past him, shaking his head.

“And I’m the killer.”

“Murphy…”

Murphy turns around, shrugging off the comment, and nodding his head towards the dropship. 

“Let’s just get what we came for and get out of here, okay?”

Bellamy steps forward, closing the gap between him and Murphy, gently grabbing his arm to pull him the last few inches.

“Yeah, but I promised I’d grab some of those jobi nuts while we’re here.”

Murphy gives him a blank look.

“Right, you weren’t there for that. They’re just really good… nuts…”

“_Right_.”

Murphy rolls his eyes, flicking Bellamy’s nose before pulling away from him and heading back towards the dropship camp.

“I gotta pee,” he states when Bellamy gives him a pondering look.

“Alright, I’ll grab the nuts and catch up,” Bellamy replies to Murphy’s receding form.

Murphy gives him a thumbs-up as he disappears into the camp.

Bellamy walks the couple of feet over to where a bush sprouts with bright green nuts. He sets his things down, pulling a small bag out of his backpack.

He makes quick work of gathering dozens of the little nuts, glancing over his shoulder at the dropship in the near distance.

“That should do it,” Bellamy says to himself, closing the bag tightly and packing away the jobi nuts in his backpack.

Standing up he slings the backpack over his shoulder, along with his rifle. As he makes his way up to the camp, he notices a trail of snapped twigs. 

Smiling to himself Bellamy pushes aside the bright red tarp and enters the lower level of the dropship. He peeks around the corners of the dropship and glances up the ladder, feeling dread start to settle in his gut.

“Murphy?” Bellamy calls uncertainly, exiting the dropship when he doesn’t get a reply.

Glancing back at the ground Bellamy notices another trail of broken twigs leading away from camp. He quickly follows them until he spots Murphy's familiar form.

Bellamy approaches Murphy slowly, watching him carefully as he stands unmoving under the giant oak tree. As he gets closer Bellamy spots what Murphy is staring so intently at, suddenly faltering in his steps.

Bellamy stops short only a few feet from Murphy’s still unmoving form, scared to break the heavy silence that swirls around them.

“It’s healing,” Murphy whispers, so quietly that Bellamy isn’t sure he was supposed to hear it.

Murphy rubs at his neck subconsciously, still looking up at the branch that has crude, matching patterns wrapped around it. But Murphy is right, they are healing, both of them.

After several more long minutes of silence Bellamy can’t help but reach out to Murphy, needing to feel his presence. Coming up beside him he gently grasps Murphy’s shoulder.

He feels victorious and relieved when Murphy doesn’t pull away from the point of contact on his shoulder, instead slightly leaning back into the solid touch.

“Look, I know you don’t want to hear it but I still have to say it. I’m sorry Murphy, for everything.”

Murphy huffs out a laugh before looking over at Bellamy. 

“You were just giving the people what they wanted, right?”

Despite Murphy’s cutting words there is something soft in his eyes as he looks at Bellamy. It’s not forgiveness, far from it, but Bellamy can’t help but feel like it’s a step in the right direction.

Bellamy feels strangely at peace standing with Murphy in the middle of the woods, the only sound to be heard is birds singing and the soft rustle of the wind through the trees. 

“We were never here for parts for the rover were we,” Murphy says, more a statement than a question.

Wrapping his arm around Murphy’s shoulders Bellamy pulls him close, burying his face in Murphy’s soft hair. After a tense moment, Murphy relaxes into the hold, looping his arm around Bellamy’s waist.

“Thank you,” Murphy whispers, reaching out to lay his hand flat against the trunk of the tree.

Bellamy feels frozen in this moment with Murphy, the world stops as they stand under the tree.

The light filters through the trees just right and Bellamy catches a glance of Murphy strung up with a red, red rope. Wrapping around his neck, his hands in his mouth. The red envelopes him.

If he looks closely he can make out the beginning of angry red bruises wrapping around Murphy’s throat; getting deeper the more he struggles.

The crate teeters as Murphy stands on his tiptoes, eyes glued to something standing over Bellamy’s shoulder.

Bellamy turns and sees himself, standing among the crowd who is chanting his name. Among them he spots a scared little girl, eyes set wide with fear and guilt.

Bellamy watches as he approaches the crate, a foot primed to kick it out, hesitance heavy in his stance.

A voice stops him, somehow heard through all the chanting going on around them.

Bellamy watches himself look up as Murphy pleads for him to cut him down. 

His eyes are wet with tears making the emotions found there seemingly swim around, a storm brewing in the open ocean.

There’s so much fear in his eyes. 

There’s so much hope in his eyes.

Bellamy looks away before he sees himself kick the crate, but he can still hear the rope grow taut and the labored breathing that follows. The sound echoes through the trees, haunting him, taunting him.

“Hey…”

Bellamy snaps to, looking down to where Murphy stands in front of him, concern etched into his features.

“It’s okay,” Murphy says like a promise, “we’re okay.”

Bellamy nods numbly, letting Murphy wipe the tears from his face.

Murphy gently rests his head against Bellamy’s, their breath mingling as Murphy stares at him lovingly. 

Murphy snakes his hand around the back of Bellamy’s neck, loosely grabbing ahold of his curls. He uses his light grip to pull Bellamy forward, joining their lips in a slow, sweet kiss.

He pulls away with a content sigh, placing a wet kiss on Bellamy’s nose. 

“This expedition is a bust,” Murphy snarks, looping arms with Bellamy as he drags him away from their past. “Let’s go home.”

Bellamy smiles down at Murphy as they walk side by side, already feeling right at home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading this.  
All comments, questions, and constructive criticism welcome!


	5. Let Me Die

**5 Months Later**

A warm weight settles on Bellamy’s chest slowly pulling him from his deep, peaceful slumber. He smiles to himself, enjoying the sleep heavy bliss that surrounds him. Just as he starts to drift back to sleep the warmth on his chest shifts, slowly making its way up.

A sudden pressure on Bellamy’s ribs makes him grunt quietly, but the pressure disappears before he has time to dwell on it. The warm weight settles along his whole body now, curling tightly against him. A heavy, yet welcome weight nuzzles under his chin with soft hair that tickles his exposed skin.

“Bellamy,” comes a singsong voice accompanied by a finger poking at his nose.

Bellamy swats the finger away, rubbing at his irritated nose with a groan.

The warm weight on top of him shifts and with it comes a sharp pain in his abdomen.

“Ow!”

Bellamy’s eyes reluctantly shoot open and he is quick to take in the sight of Murphy’s face, which just so happens to be mere inches away from his own.

“Morning Sleeping Beauty.”

A soft smile appears on Murphy’s face as he dips his head down to plant a small kiss on Bellamy’s nose. Bellamy frowns up at Murphy, taking in his deviously innocent show of affection.

“You’re filthy,” Bellamy finally says, eyes roving over Murphy’s dirt-caked face.

“Monty’s got us digging an irrigation canal,” Murphy beams at him.

Bellamy groans again trying to roll back over so that he can go to sleep but Murphy’s sharp elbows and knees pin him in place.

“What time is it?” 

Murphy smiles again, looking down at Bellamy with a little bit too much glee.

“Six,” he says entirely too cheerfully, “Monty says we have to get up early to avoid the heat.”

Bellamy remembers when he was the morning person out of the two of them. Those first couple months, when Murphy had just started sleeping in Bellamy’s quarters, had been wonderful.

Murphy was not a morning person by any means and Bellamy had taken great delight in watching him wake up in the mornings. Back then Bellamy had gotten stuck with the early morning guard shift and he would swing by the mess hall for coffee on his way back. 

He would take his time stroking Murphy’s hair, enjoying the small sounds that Murphy made as he slowly woke up. Murphy always greeted him those mornings with a scrunched up, perturbed expression that quickly morphed into content when he was presented with his steaming cup of coffee.

Bellamy would strip out of his guard uniform and crawl back into bed with his own coffee. Murphy had taken to curling into Bellamy’s side, with one hand wrapped around his coffee and the other absentmindedly playing with the curls at the nape of Bellamy’s neck.

As winter had melted into spring Bellamy was reassigned to a midday guard shift and had quickly grown accustomed and comfortable with lazing around in the mornings.

Murphy, however, had been recruited by Monty to help him with odd jobs around the camp and over the last few weeks had been stealing him earlier and earlier in the mornings.

Murphy too had quickly grown comfortable with his new schedule, but unfortunately for Bellamy had a much different way of waking Bellamy up when he got off his early morning shift.

“Screw Monty,” Bellamy huffs, closing his eyes and letting his head thump back onto the bed.

“I’ll let him know you’re interested.”

Bellamy groans as Murphy chuckles at his own lame joke.

“Alright, that’s it.”

In one swooping motion, Bellamy launches Murphy off of himself and onto the floor, followed by his pillow which lands with a satisfying thud directly onto Murphy’s face.

Murphy just laughs louder, pulling the pillow down his face just far enough to peek at Bellamy over the top of it. His eyes glimmer with mirth and Bellamy can’t help but smile fondly down at him… that is until he sees the bedsheets out of the corner of his eye. 

“Murphy!”

Murphy follows Bellamy’s gaze to the sheets that are streaked with dirt and mud, letting the pillow fall into his lap Murphy meets Bellamy’s eyes with a brazen smile.

“Art,” Murphy proudly exclaims, sweeping his hand through the air in a grand gesture of the soiled sheets.

Bellamy’s nose crinkles as the smell in the room finally hits him and he turns a disgusted look in Murphy’s direction.

“God, when’s the last time you showered? You smell like shit.”

“Manure.”

Bellamy pauses in his search for underwear, turning to look at Murphy’s smug face.

“What?”

“Manure. Technically it’s not shit, it’s manure.”

Murphy dodges the pillow that Bellamy throws this time, laughing as he stands up and moves towards the door.

“These are fresh sheets, Murphy! Look- you got- ugh.” Bellamy trails off as Murphy continues to laugh at him.

“Look it’s not my fault that Raven hasn’t fixed the broken showers yet. We’re all suffering here.”

Bellamy narrows his eyes at Murphy, quirking his brow.

“And whose fault is it that we have broken showers?”

This causes Murphy to fluster, cheeks growing red as he sputters at Bellamy.

“I blame Jasper one hundred percent, okay? If he wasn’t distracting me with his stupid jokes that never would have happened. And, hey, I told you that in the utmost confidence. I was vulnerable that night, in a, a compromised position and you took advantage of that.”

A sly smile makes its way to Bellamy’s face as he props himself up on the bed, letting the sheet fall further down his torso.

“Oh, you were in the comprised position? Because I remember that night a little differ-”

Murphy rapidly shakes his head, hand fumbling for the door handle blindly as he maintains intense eye contact with Bellamy. 

“Well, I just came here to invite you to breakfast with… with the gang… so I’ll see you there.”

Bellamy nods, his smile still firmly in place as Murphy turns to properly open the door.

“That is, if you ever get out of bed _ your highness_.”

Bellamy’s too slow and the pillow he aims at the back of Murphy’s head collides with the door as Murphy quickly shuts it.

Bellamy smiles as he hears Murphy’s laugh on the other side of the door, his footsteps growing faint as he hurries down the corridor.

**. · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . ·**

Bellamy approaches the outdoor mess hall, pausing as he spots Murphy.

Murphy snakes an arm behind Octavia’s back pulling on a tiny braid causing her to snap her head to the left. By the time she looks back towards Murphy, he is innocently eating his oatmeal, staring off into the field. 

A smile breaks out on Bellamy’s face as Octavia takes her glass of water and _ accidentally _spills the contents into Murphy’s lap. 

Bellamy slowly starts approaching as they begin pushing one another, trying to get the other one to lose their balance and fall off their stool.

“If I didn’t know better I’d think you two were siblings,” Bellamy remarks as he finally reaches the table.

Octavia and Murphy don’t even bother regarding Bellamy or his snarky comment, favoring to continue their torment of one another.

“They’ve been like this all morning,” Lincoln states exasperated, tired eyes fondly watching as Octavia attempts to dump a spoonful of oatmeal down Murphy’s shirt. 

Bellamy slides into the seat next to Murphy, nearly receiving an elbow to the face as Murphy and Octavia’s wrestling escalates. 

Pushing Murphy off of him Bellamy glances around the table tiredly, eyes landing on Monty he gives him a half-hearted glare which Monty returns with an enthusiastic thumbs up.

“Hey,” Bellamy says after a moment, talking to no one in particular, “where’s Clarke?”

Murphy answers him with a roll of his eyes, finally paying attention to him, even if it is with exasperation.

“You really are stupid, huh?” Murphy asks him, voice flat but eyes dancing with adoration.

“Look who’s talking,” Octavia retorts, with the most judgemental look someone with oatmeal on their face can muster.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Ms. ‘I can’t use a gun cause I’m too cool’,” Murphy mocks, pitching his voice up to mimic Octavia’s. 

“I _ don’t _sound like that!”

Murphy and Octavia start to quarrel again, poking each other both physically and metaphorically, causing Lincoln to share an amused look with Bellamy.

“Clarke left early this morning with the group that’s headed to Polis,” Lincoln calmly answers Bellamy’s earlier question, picking up his oatmeal bowl off the table before it can fall victim to Murphy and Octavia’s antics.

Bellamy hums in acknowledgment, thoughts wandering to the potential political ramifications of the Polis trip. A chaste kiss on his lips pulls him from his thoughts.

“Hi there,” Murphy smiles, eyes looking at him with thinly veiled concern. 

Bellamy smiles back, thumb coming up to rub the worry away from Murphy’s brow.

“You had that look again,” Murphy whispers, leaning his forehead against Bellamy’s. 

“Just thinking,” Bellamy reassures, getting lost in Murphy’s expressive eyes.

Half climbing into Bellamy’s lap Murphy drops his head to rest against Bellamy’s collarbone, nipping at the exposed skin there.

Octavia fakes gagging when she glances over, prompting Murphy to flip her off without moving his head from its spot. Murphy adds some over-exaggerated moans for good measure, causing Octavia to harshly kick him under the table.

Murphy snickers, pushing a final, sloppy kiss to Bellamy’s neck before pulling back.

“You should probably think about getting to your shift on time,” Murphy says, finishing his oatmeal casually.

“Shit, what time is it?” Bellamy exclaims, glancing at his watch and jumping up from the table.

Bellamy turns to leave starting to walk away when Murphy coughs to gain his attention, eyeing him with irritation. Bellamy smiles, leaning down to lay a kiss on the top of his head. As he pulls away Murphy grabs his wrist loosely, taking his time kissing each individual knuckle.

“See ya, Murph.”

“I’m going to go take a nap,” Murphy calls after him, “come join me when you get off.”

Bellamy throws a look over his shoulder, catching the tail end of Murphy’s shit-eating grin.

**. · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . ·**

Bellamy nods to Miller as he passes him in the corridor, shrugging out of his guard’s jacket as he enters the locker room. 

Hanging up his rifle and jacket in his locker, Bellamy strides back out of the room making sure the door slides closed and locks behind him.

His feet automatically start to carry him back to his quarters, his bed, his Murphy.

As his mind drifts back to this morning Bellamy abruptly changes direction, quickly rounding the corner into Raven’s lab.

A loud crash greets Bellamy as he enters the main room of the lab, no Raven in sight. Bellamy knocks against the table in the middle of the room in greeting, glancing around at the different boxes of wires and sheet metal spread out in haphazard piles.

Another loud crash comes from a side room, followed by angry swearing.

Bellamy follows the source of the noise, pushing a door open against the resistance of a scattered pile of gears and other assorted metal parts.

Stepping over the mess Bellamy spots Raven sprawled out at the bottom of a ladder, glaring at the ceiling like she’s ready to physically fight it.

“Raven,” Bellamy questions hesitantly as he crouches down next to her, “you okay?”

Raven sighs, deflating as she turns her seething gaze onto the ladder.

“Fuck gravity.”

Sensing that Raven won’t be moving anytime soon Bellamy pushes some gears aside and lays down next to Raven, staring up at the ceiling alongside her.

“Anything I can do?” 

“I wouldn’t have this problem in Zero-G,” Raven huffs, ignoring Bellamy.

Bellamy glances over at her to find her still glaring at the ceiling, face set with grim determination.

“Yeah,” Bellamy replies, prompting Raven to look over at him as if she just noticed he was there.

Throwing one last threatening glance at the ceiling Raven pulls herself off the ground, belatedly offering Bellamy a hand up. Bellamy takes the proffered hand, pushing himself up off the ground.

Raven dusts herself off before climbing the ladder, the legs teetering as she reaches for a box packed in the far corner of the shelf.

Bellamy quickly moves to stabilize the ladder, holding it steady as Raven continues to reach for the box.

Finally grabbing the box Raven pulls it towards her and dismounts the ladder, stepping around Bellamy into the main room of her lab. Following behind her Bellamy watches as she sets the box down with a heavy thud onto her work table.

“Why are you here anyway?” Raven questions, wiping the dust off the box with a sweep of her arm.

Bellamy coughs as the resulting dust cloud surrounds them, waving his arms to dissipate it.

“I was hoping to get an update on the showers situation,” Bellamy coughs out, bringing his shirt up to his face as a makeshift mask.

Raven glances up, smirking at Bellamy’s exposed chest before returning her attention to the box.

“Showing me your abs isn’t going to make me fix the showers any faster, you know?”

“Worth a try,” Bellamy responds, voice muffled by his shirt.

Raven starts taking parts out of the box, arranging them on her work table one by one. Bellamy drops his shirt, reaching into the box to help only to be smacked away by Raven.

“Look,” Raven states, pausing in her unpacking, “it wasn’t my boyfriend who broke them in the first place.”

“There is no evidence that Murphy did anything to those showers,” Bellamy defends, a little too quickly. 

Raven gives him an unimpressed look, her quiet judgment speaking volumes.

“Alright look, I’m just saying, why should I have to suffer because of my partner’s shortcomings? It’s not my fault that Murphy maybe, sort of, _ accidentally_... definitelybroketheshowers.”

Bellamy shoots her a wan smile, scratching the back of his neck when she gives him a flat look.

With a heavy sigh, Raven pushes the box aside and walks across the room to a small desk crammed into a forgotten corner. Retrieving a folded up, overly used piece of paper she walks back and starts to unfold it in front of Bellamy.

As she unfolds it Bellamy starts to make out a map of the surrounding area, with key areas violently circled in a deep red.

Bellamy quickly spots Arkadia, Mount Weather, and the Dropship in a neat little triangle. Further across the map Tondc is brightly labeled, diagonal to that lays a question mark labeled with Polis.

Between Arkadia and Mount Weather lies another dark red circle with no label which Raven points to with no explanation.

“There’s a nice runoff from the mountain here, it’s secluded, and as far as I can tell no one else knows about it.”

Bellamy nods his head, eyeing the circle and making a mental note of which trails to take to reach it.

“I want it to stay that way,” Raven instructs, sharp tone leaving no room for question.

“Thanks, Raven,” Bellamy says earnestly, “Murphy is going to love this.”

Raven rolls her eyes at Bellamy’s sappiness, shoving the map into his hands and resuming her unpacking of the box.

“Yeah, yeah, now get out of here so I can do my work,” Raven scolds. “And stop coming to me for love advice for you and loverboy.”

Bellamy smiles as he folds up the map, turning to leave Raven to her work.

As he gets to the doorway a box catches Bellamy’s eye and he veers to inspect it. He triumphantly pulls out an almost full bottle of shampoo, placing it back he shifts through the box, finding several more bottles of assorted soaps.

“I thought the camp ran out of the good soap weeks ago,” Bellamy accuses, scooping up the box and turning back towards a surprised Raven.

“Hey, that’s my stash!”

Bellamy raises an eyebrow, an amused smile tugging at his lips.

“Don’t give me that look,” Raven scolds, “consider it payment from the camp for giving them working plumbing.”

Bellamy scoffs shaking his head and slowly making his way to the exit.

“Well, then just consider this payment for me not ratting you out,” Bellamy teases as he backs out of the doorway into the corridor. 

“Hey, I want those back, Blake!”

Bellamy pulls a considering face, pretending to think about it as he continues to walk backward down the hallway.

“I’ll consider it.”

With that he turns around and starts actually walking away, a spring in his step.

“And don’t taint my water!” Raven calls after him, voice carrying through the corridor as Bellamy makes his hasty exit.

**. · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . ·**

Bellamy opens the door to their shared living quarters as quietly as he can, not at all surprised at the sight that greets him on the other side of the door.

Murphy lays sprawled out on the now completely dirt-covered bed, prone body contently basking in the sun that streams through the lone window.

Bellamy smiles at how Murphy’s face is squished into the pillow, a small trail of drool running down the corner of his mouth onto the pillow. His hands make fists in the sheets, occasionally clenching in his sleep before relaxing again. Murphy’s eyes flutter behind his eyelids, darting rapidly back and forth in his sleep.

Bellamy considers getting payback for this morning, a devious grin spreading across his face as he moves fully into the room.

A small sound escapes Murphy as Bellamy approaches. Looking down Bellamy notices that Murphy’s face has scrunched up and his whole body has started twitching. 

At first Bellamy thinks he’s having a bad dream, unfortunately not a rare occurrence for Murphy these days, but as his gaze travels further down Murphy’s body he realizes that Murphy’s problem is one of an entirely different nature.

Changing tactics Bellamy kicks off his boots and crawls into the bed between Murphy and the wall. 

Wrapping his arm around Murphy, Bellamy starts to stroke Murphy’s back waiting until he starts to push into the ministrations before fully enveloping him in his arms.

He thinks about pushing Murphy off the bed but before he has a chance to decide, crystal blue eyes are blinking up at him pinning him with their soft fondness.

Murphy opens his mouth wide to yawn, stretching out on the bed and cracking his back. He then cuddles up to Bellamy’s side, burrowing his head under Bellamy’s chin with a content sigh.

Bellamy waits a couple of minutes before he starts to pepper kisses on Murphy’s arm, moving up until he reaches his neck. Murphy hums in his sleep, body moving closer to Bellamy’s warmth.

It isn’t until Bellamy nips his chin that Murphy reacts, yelping and shoving at Bellamy tiredly. Murphy barely cracks his eyes open, two little slits of blue glaring at Bellamy.

“The fuck Bell?”

Bellamy smiles as Murphy shoots him an irritated look from under his mess of hair.

“Who’s Sleeping Beauty now, hmm?”

Murphy groans as he rolls over in an attempt to distance himself from Bellamy. 

Bellamy is quick to pursue and he nearly knocks both of them off the bed as he wraps Murphy up in his arms again.

Murphy flails in his loose hold, sharp limbs finding all of Bellamy’s internal organs with deadly accuracy. 

Murphy finally gives up in his lame attempt to escape Bellamy’s hold, body sagging as he looks over his shoulder to give Bellamy a proper glare with his sleep heavy eyes.

Once he has stopped moving Bellamy places a quick kiss on the top of Murphy’s head.

“Mornin’.”

“It’s afternoon,” Murphy sighs, twisting in Bellamy’s grip until he is facing him.

“Wasn’t talking to you,” Bellamy coos, looking intently not at Murphy’s face.

“What are yo-”

Murphy cuts himself off as he follows Bellamy’s gaze down his own body, blushing when his eyes find what is holding Bellamy’s attention.

Bellamy uses Murphy’s surprised embarrassment to his advantage, capturing his lips in a slow, sensuous kiss. Murphy returns the kiss lazily, smiling into it as he starts to slowly grind his hips.

Bellamy waits until Murphy starts to make low sounds in the back of his throat, wrapping his arms tenderly around Murphy he gets a strong hold on him and pushes. 

Murphy crashes to the floor with a heavy thud, eyes huge in shock, sleepy arousal still evident.

“You know Raven told me about something that might help,” Bellamy states, ignoring Murphy’s disgruntled look with faux obliviousness. 

Murphy flips him off as he grabs his pants from where they are bunched in the far corner of the room, attempting to hop into them one leg at a time. 

“Sounds like fun,” Bellamy continues, propping himself up on one arm to get a better view of Murphy wiggling into his pants.

“You know as much as I would love to take sex advice from an engine-” 

Murphy falls unceremoniously to the floor, one leg in his twisted up pants.

Ignoring Murphy wrestling with his pants on the floor Bellamy states, “Still not what I’m talking about, Murph.”

Murphy stops in his ardent attempts to untangle his pants long enough to stare at Bellamy, suspicion heavy in his eyes.

“Thought the showers weren’t working,” Murphy accuses, his tone only fueling Bellamy’s amusement.

“I was thinking more of a… bath, of sorts.”

Murphy’s suspicion grows as he finally manages to untangle his pants, pulling them up as he stands up.

“Alright Blake, you piqued my interest.”

Bellamy’s smile grows as Murphy pulls him up and off the bed, shoving his boots into his hands as he tugs on his own.

“There’s a nice little mountain spring about two kilometers northeast of here,” Bellamy explains as he follows Murphy out the door, happily lacing his hand with Murphy’s. “I even managed to snag some of the last bottles of soap!”

Murphy looks over as Bellamy proudly produces his _ borrowed _ bottles of soap, shaking his head with a small, secretive smile. 

“You know me Bell,” Murphy snarks, hand squeezing Bellamy’s, “I’m always up for a little midday skinny dipping.” 

**. · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . ·**

Bellamy glances down at his and Murphy’s interlaced fingers, smiling as he lets Murphy swing their arms in a dramatic unison. 

Bellamy adjusts the box tucked against his chest in his other hand as Murphy almost trips over the thick root of a tree.

“Are we there yet?” Bellamy asks for the billionth time, causing Murphy to glare over at him before returning his full attention to the map in his hands.

Murphy had insisted on being the navigator, complaining that Bellamy was already in charge of carrying the soap and insisting that he had advanced wilderness skills. They had started their expedition by going in the exact opposite way of the spring, resulting in a giant loop around Arkadia. 

Murphy had spent the last ten minutes pulling Bellamy along unexplored offshoots of the main trail, zigzagging them through the forest and insisting that they were “taking the scenic route” anytime Bellamy questioned him.

Anytime Bellamy suggested going one way Murphy was quick to inform him that his way was better and if Bellamy dared look at the map Murphy swatted him away with a disgruntled groan.

Dragging Bellamy back onto the main trail for the fourteenth time Murphy glances up from his map to take in the trail beyond them. With a couple more glances between the map and the trail, Murphy turns to Bellamy with a pleased smile.

“Alright, looks like this is the trail that’ll take us to Raven’s spot.”

  
Bellamy has to bite his tongue to keep from telling Murphy that this was the way he had said they should take the whole time. Instead, he smiles over at Murphy, humming in agreement, and delighting in the triumphant look Murphy gives him in return.

Folding up the map and shoving it in his back pocket Murphy tucks himself into Bellamy’s side, leaning his head on Bellamy’s shoulder with a content sigh.

They walk in pleasant silence. Wind blowing through the trees, birds fluttering by, their boots crunching softly in the leaves littering the ground.

Bellamy’s thoughts drift back to Polis and the uncertain future if the coalition between them and the grounders doesn’t pan out. Abby and the council had decided on sending Kane, who already had formed a nice rapport with some of Trikru; David Miller, who was a gentle, yet firm guardsman; Harper, who could speak to the shared trauma of Mount Weather; and Clarke, who could hopefully appeal to Lexa’s softer side.

“Do you think they’ve made it to Polis yet?” Murphy questions as if reading his thoughts.

“Lincoln says it’s about a four day walk.”

“They took Raven’s rover right?” Murphy questions, lifting his head to look at Bellamy.

Bellamy nods, seeing the concern in Murphy’s gaze he reaches up to cup Murphy’s face.

“Hey, no matter what happens in Polis, we’re going to be alright,” Bellamy reassures, kissing Murphy’s forehead.

“Yeah,” Murphy replies weakly, incredulity evident in his voice.

Before Bellamy has a chance to address Murphy’s concerns, the spring comes into view and Murphy is untangling himself from Bellamy.

“Race ya,” Murphy exclaims, already taking off, “last one there has to wash the sheets!”

Bellamy clutches the box of soaps closer to his chest as he takes off after Murphy, nearly falling down the slight hill in his efforts to catch up.

By the time Bellamy catches up to him, Murphy is already stripping out of his clothes trying to pull off his pants and kick off his boots simultaneously.

  
Setting down the box Bellamy is quick to follow Murphy’s lead and begins stripping, in a much more controlled, effective fashion.

Finally free of his clothes Murphy glances over at Bellamy who has bent over to unlace his shoes. When Bellamy glances up Murphy makes a show of striding over to the water and hopping in with both feet.

“Holy fuck,” Murphy exclaims, falling over as he stumbles to get out of the water. “It’s cold.”

Bellamy laughs as Murphy shoots him a look of disgust and betrayal, bunching up his boxers and hitting Bellamy square in the face.

“Hey,” Bellamy laughs, “what’d you expect? It’s the runoff of the melting snow from the mountain, of course it’s going to be cold.” 

“Really fucking cold, Bell,” Murphy corrects dryly, eyeing the water loathingly. 

Slipping out of his own boxers Bellamy wades into the water, throwing a seductive look over his shoulder as he lets his fingers dance across the water.

“Come on in Murphy, the water’s fine,” Bellamy coos, plunging into the water and out of sight.

Murphy groans as he watches Bellamy swim deeper and deeper into the cool blue water, dipping his toe in he tests the waters. 

Nope, still too cold.

He waits for Bellamy to swim back and coax him in, but to no avail. With a heavy, exaggerated sigh Murphy steps into the water.

He takes a moment to adjust and goddamnit... Bellamy was right.

Wading into the cool water feels like heaven against Murphy’s heated skin. He closes his eyes to the fresh bliss that surrounds him coming to a stand still in the clear water he watches as it gently laps against his bare hips. 

Somewhere behind him he hears Bellamy diligently bathing himself, his commotion causing waves in the otherwise calm water. Murphy closes his eyes and tips his head skyward, letting the sounds of the waterfall and the warmth of the sunlight wash over him. 

Raking his fingers against his bare legs, Murphy delights in the red marks his newly regrown nails leave behind. He moves his fingers to dance in the sudsy bubbles that flow past him as he hears Bellamy fully immerse himself into the cold mountain water. 

Murphy knows he should be following suit, scrubbing himself clean so they can get back to camp quickly but Murphy can’t find it in himself to _ care_. He lets his toes curl, gripping the smooth pebbles underneath his feet and breathes in the world around him.

Several long minutes pass before Murphy unceremoniously allows himself to fall back into the cool, cool water. Snapping his eyes open as he drifts to the bottom of the lake he delights in the small bubbles that escape his mouth and further blur the image of the tall trees.

He is not under long before he feels the silky water move around him, seconds later hot skin presses into his shoulder.

Reluctantly he stands up, twisting around as he goes so he is faced with Bellamy. He lets his eyes rove up and down his clean, muscular form.

Pushing away thoughts of licking every last drop of water off the man in front of him he finally meets Bellamy’s gaze finding fondness in those all too familiar eyes. 

“I’ll hurry up,” Murphy mumbles staring into those hypnotizing brown eyes, “I was just waiting for you to be done with the soap.”

Murphy turns back around but before he can start the process of cleaning himself he is stopped by a hand loosely gripping his wrist. 

“There’s plenty of soap,” Bellamy reminds him, nodding in the direction of the bank. Following his gaze Murphy spots the forgotten bottles of shampoo discarded next to his heap of clothes.

“Right,” Murphy coughs, “my bad. Well, I’ll go get those and finish up so we can get back to camp.”

Despite his words, Murphy doesn’t move and Bellamy doesn’t release his gentle hold on Murphy’s wrist instead rubbing small, soothing circles into the prominent bone found there.

Leaning forward Bellamy breathes into Murphy’s neck causing goosebumps to raise up there. 

“Do you need some help, Murph?”

Murphy holds his breath as Bellamy moves flush against his back, hand not holding Murphy’s wrist wrapping around to pull Murphy back into himself.

“You got a,” Murphy pauses to gather himself as Bellamy begins to rub soft hands against his belly, “you have a kink for bathing people?”

“Just you.”

Murphy tips his head back to rest on Bellamy’s shoulder as Bellamy’s hands continue to rove across his scarred chest.

“Let me take care of you.”

Murphy still doesn’t answer, words lost on him as Bellamy’s wandering hands find all the stress in his shoulders relieving him of his tensions with strong, skilled kneading.

Moving one hand back to his wrist, Bellamy snakes the other up to the nape of his neck gently working out the knots in his messy hair. 

“Say yes.”

Mind buzzing and heart thrumming Murphy knows there is only one answer he can give.  
  


“Yes…”

Bellamy breathes out a sigh of relief as if Murphy’s words give him life. Pressing a single kiss into Murphy’s neck he gently guides him back against himself until Murphy’s whole weight is supported by Bellamy.

“Let’s start with this mess, shall we?” Bellamy ruffles his knotted locks, mirth lacing his words.

Murphy can only manage a hum in response as Bellamy continues to tip him slowly backward, eventually laying fully submerged in the water with Bellamy’s arms holding him afloat. He barely holds back a moan as Bellamy’s hand combs through his hair working out weeks of dirt and grime. Murphy loses himself to the sensations coursing through his body, his whole mind focused on the pure bliss of Bellamy’s hands as they methodically clean every inch of Murphy’s lean form.

Murphy loses all sense of time and before he knows it Bellamy’s hands leave his body entirely. He lays afloat in the water for a moment, taking in the tranquility before opening his eyes and peering up at Bellamy. 

Bellamy extends a hand down, gently pulling Murphy up to a standing position. He grips Murphy’s chin angling it up ever so slightly, leaning in until their lips are ghosting over each other, their breath mingling with each exhale. Bellamy slowly pulls his gaze from those luscious lips, dragging it upward to meet eyes more blue than the water they stand in.

“Tell me to stop,” Bellamy tells him, the words tickling Murphy’s skin.

Murphy parts his lips, eyes tracking over every freckle on Bellamy’s sunkissed skin. Bellamy surges that last little distance and he moans into the kiss as Bellamy moves to stroke his cheek. Murphy finally lets his own hands wander, one snaking into Bellamy’s damp curls holding onto them like a lifeline. Murphy moans again as Bellamy’s hands reach down to grip his ass and Bellamy takes the opportunity to swipe his tongue inside Murphy’s mouth. 

Bellamy pulls back causing Murphy to groan at the sudden loss, earning him an endearing smile.

“Tell me to stop,” Bellamy repeats as he moves to nip at Murphy’s collarbone, licking and sucking the tender spot. He leaves a trail of kisses down Murphy’s chest, only pausing to briefly suckle on Murphy’s nipple, until he gets to the dusting of hair where he abruptly stops eyes locking with Murphy’s.

Gently grabbing hold of each thigh, thumbs rubbing irritatingly erotic circles into his tender flesh Bellamy holds his gaze. 

“Tell me to stop.”

Murphy reaches down twining his fingers into Bellamy’s hair in a loving hold.

“Don’t stop, god Bell, please. Don’t stop.”

**. · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . ·**

Murphy shifts where he is half sprawled on top of Bellamy angling his body for a better vantage point.

“What are you doing?”

“Shh,” Murphy chides, eyes never leaving Bellamy’s chest, “don’t interrupt a master at work.”

Bellamy cracks open one eye to stare down at his own chest and Murphy’s finger as he lazily swipes through the liquid sat there.

“Oh my god, Murph! Are you seriously doodling with our cum?”

Murphy pauses in his intense artwork to glance lovingly up at Bellamy, his concentration broken.

“Relax, it’s mostly water anyway.”

Bellamy huffs and rolls his eyes as he lays his head back down in the soft grass, smile firmly in place.

“Besides,” Murphy continues unperturbed by Bellamy’s rude interruption, “I’m not doodling… I’m playing connect the dots with your freckles.”

Bellamy’s eyes shoot open as he sits up, elbows propping him as he turns an indignant gaze onto Murphy.

“Hey! You ruined it,” Murphy complains as his masterpiece slides down Bellamy’s chest. 

“Yeah, well you didn’t tell me you were tracing my freckles.”

Murphy looks up at Bellamy, surprised at his tone of voice and the discomfort he finds written across his face.

“You don’t like your freckles.” 

It comes out more of a statement than a question but when Bellamy doesn’t openly deny it Murphy pushes him back so he’s lying flat in the grass again. Before Bellamy has a chance to react Murphy straddles his hips, quickly dipping his head down to run his tongue in a clear path from Bellamy’s belly button up to his nipple.

“Murph…”

“What? You already ruined my masterpiece,” Murphy points out as he runs a finger through the remaining mess on Bellamy’s stomach, making a show of sucking his finger in such a way that is entirely unfair.

“That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it.”

Murphy hums at this for a second before planting his hands on either side of Bellamy’s head. 

“Well, I am fully entitled to my freckles kink seeing as I granted you entitlement to your scar kink.”

Bellamy sputters at this and attempts to sit up as he readily protests. Murphy easily pins him to the forest floor before he makes it far.

“I do not have a scar kink,” Bellamy states emphatically, blush rising to his cheeks as his eyes wander down Murphy’s torso.

“Hey, man, I’m not kink-shaming here but I know you have a scar kink. You know you have a scar kink. Hell, the whole camp _ knows _ you have a scar-”

Murphy is cut off as Bellamy surges forward, lips pressing insistently into Murphy’s own as his hand trails over the particularly nasty spear wound on Murphy’s abdomen effectively proving Murphy’s point. 

Murphy uses his position on Bellamy’s lap to grind down on him causing him to open his mouth in a loud moan giving Murphy free access to roam his mouth. Murphy shoves him back into the grass yet again as he trails lazy kisses down his throat. Laying full body against him Murphy stretches out not unlike a cat and tucks his head under Bellamy’s chin. 

After a moment Bellamy starts to stroke his hair in a hypnotizing pattern and Murphy sighs in content.

“I could get used to this.”

Bellamy lets the statement hang in the air for a few moments before humming in question, eyes staring adoringly at the top of Murphy’s head.

“Being happy. I could get used to it.”

Bellamy makes a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob, heart both breaking and swelling for the boy he loves.

“Yeah,” he chokes out, “yeah, Murph. Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading this.  
All comments, questions, and constructive criticism welcome!


End file.
